


Thou Soul of Love and Bravery

by B_Radley



Series: Rise and Fight Again [23]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era
Genre: Ahsoka deals with various idiots, Crime Fighting, Family, Friendship/Love, Multi, Organized Crime, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 76,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: Ahsoka Tano will use all of her wits and training, both as a Jedi, and sometime scoundrel to recover stolen assets of Bail Organa’s embryonic rebellion on a world that holds painful memories for her. With the help of more shady connections, as well old friends from her past, she will move to exorcised perceived failures of the past.Meanwhile, Bryne Covenant, still recovering from injuries incurred in a dynastic dispute on Corellia*,  begins his new role as Organa's Peacekeeper-General. He finds that criminal elements on Alderaan, joined with certain Imperial entanglements, are threatening the exposure of the House of Organa and the rebellion, as well as threatening a friend to both he and Ahsoka.Both Covenant and Ahsoka, as well as other family, must deal with changing paths as they continue to build a fight against the darkness.*As portrayed in the present-day chapters ofThe Minstrel Boy: The Bud Shall Yield No Meal.





	1. Prologue: Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past collides with the present.

**Chalacta**  
**1.5 Years after the Fall of the Republic**

A shadowy figure stands over the young ex-Jedi, as the light dims in the early evening. He runs his hands over her forehead. She stirs from the effects of the stun-disk that he had surprised her with, just outside of the old YT-1000. He looks out of the viewport of the main hold of the freighter. His eyes tear slightly as he thinks of what he has brought down on this peaceful, spiritual world.

He shakes the tears away angrily. He doesn’t have much time. The Mother-Adept had told him that the former Republic stardestroyer had jumped in at the outer edge of the system. He wonders how they have been able to escape notice for this long. Even with the small Imperial garrison in the capital city, half a world away.

He looks down again. He had only vaguely remembered the young woman from his past. He had heard of her trial, her expulsion, and her redemption, only to refuse the offer of re-entry into the Order. A chance that he was never given, even though they had only sent him to the Agri-Corps.

She stirs, slightly, a small noise—two words on her lips. His eyes widen slightly at the names.

_Anakin. Tal._

_Of course,_ he muses, pushing the thoughts of dead Jedi from his mind, _he had actually been guilty of what the Council accused him of_. Not the circumstantial evidence that nearly led this powerful young Jedi to an ignominious death at the hands of the Republic. A faint, misty memory buzzes in his mind of a broken arm and a lip quivering, tears welling in her overlarge blue eyes, but not bawling like a number of younglings would.

He thinks of the cauldron of Order 66. A memory of that hellish night, escaping from the slaughter-mad clones and the dark figure leading them, of using his medical experiments and knowledge to insure the survival of at least one other young Jedi in that madness. This one has apparently been able to survive on her own, without any help from a forbidden experiment. The young woman murmurs in her sleep, her eyes momentarily popping open, then closing, like bright blue-tinted windows.

 _Without his help, until now, at least_. He clutches his head from the pain, as all of his past mistakes rush into his mind at once, as they always do. The most recent one pulls to the forefront in his tortuous memory. The mention of one word in the town, in the bar that he spent most of his waking hours, was bringing unwanted attention to him and his charges. To the enclave outside of town who had first taken them in.

He sighs and runs his hand through his graying, unkempt hair. He glimpses his face in the small mirror on the bulkhead. His slightly demented hazel eyes stare back at him. He touches the injector in the pocket of his robes.

Only one injection, this time, would be needed. One to forget, as well as to mask. The culmination of his research. An injection that would only last one week, before reversing itself, at least for the masking part. The memory of this week should never return.

He pulls another tiny object from the same pocket. A small viewer-slide. The drop of blood on it can just be made out. He drops it on the floor and crushes it under foot. He hears a noise behind him. He smiles slightly as he turns and looks at the slightly older young woman staring at him. His earlier experiment, much like himself. Yet another mistake, except for her life.

“You’re sure about this, Garda?” the young woman asks.

“Yes, my dear,” he replies. “I think that you, Faith, and she need to leave. The Empire will be here soon. I am sure of it.”

“What about you?” she persists.

“My dear, like you, I have no Force-power. Unlike you, I can get some, at least temporarily. Somebody has to make sure that your escape is covered.”

“Yeah, and whose fault was my little affliction?” she asks, anger evident in her voice. A quality unfamiliar in this young woman’s voice, and her navy blue eyes, even in the fight for survival of the last year or so. Unfamiliar except when her loved ones are threatened. At one time, that circle had included the father of the little girl asleep in her arms, as well as an older girl, born of a grotesque experiment by an uncaring government.

“I did what I had to do, to save your life, girl. They would’ve slaughtered you. You were nearly dead already.” He looks down. “I don’t regret saving you. The universe would not be the same without you and this precious treasure.“ He touches the child on the golden skin of her forehead.

“Did you have to stun her? I think she has been through enough,” the woman asks, her eyes still hard and angry, until her gaze tracks over the young Togruta.

“I couldn’t take the chance. She would probably want to be a hero and fight the Imperials. I think we owe it to the Chalactans to get out of here as fast as possible.”

“You didn’t know this. She has grown a lot in the war and afterwards.” She seizes his robe at his neck with her left hand. He squawks at the pressure from the unyielding durasteel. “I think after we get out of this, I am done with you. I am done with your playing with people’s choices and agency.”

The old man calmly removes the hand from his throat. With the same hand, he lifts the young woman’s shirt up from her side. His eyes focus on the mass of scar tissue on the right side of her abdomen. He then looks at the child. “Yeah. Those murderers gave you a lot of choice and agency when our kind were slaughtered. You and this child that was barely starting in you.” He drops his hand. “Come on, dear. We need to get you and Faith away. The rest of the enclave has managed to get away on the Jedi’s shuttle, to our next haven. All but the Mother-Adept and her husband.”

Her eyes flash at him again.

“I know. They are just as stubborn as some Jedi and ex-Jedi I know. They are going to fade into the population of the town.” He moves towards her. Her shoulders are tense under his hands. “Raise ship. I’ll watch Faith, dear.” The young woman nods and rises, placing a kiss on the young girl. She straps her into a restraint seat near the freighter’s _dejarik_ table. As she moves into the cockpit, he pulls an unfamiliar object from his ratty, filthy robes. He points it at the Chalactan’s back and pulls the trigger. A blue concentric ring strikes her. He manages to maneuver her over to the couch, to strap her in next to the eight-month old child. After a moment, he lifts a makeshift stuffed animal and places it in the girl’s arms. The little girl instinctively tightens her grip, burbling happily in her sleep.

Garda Showim walks to the cockpit and prepares the ship to be on its way. A recalled instruction from decades ago, along with fading muscle memory prepares the ship to fly itself and its precious cargo to safety. He exits the cockpit.

The former healer walks over to the unconscious Jedi, pulling the injector he had prepared. He activates the injector. There is only one dosage. He touches it to the young Togruta’s neck. There is a whimper from the pain of the injection. He watches as she settles into deeper slumber.

As he walks into the Chalactan evening, he turns and watches the small ship rise into the dying light. He pulls several inhalers from his pouch, and one by one, he inhales their contents, then drops them in a trash-burning barrel. He feels the connection build with an ancient, mystical energy field. One that he has only intermittently felt on the rare occasions that he had administered this substance.

He feels nothing from the rising ship, save for the strong life-forms in the Force. Those disappear as the ship jumps away. The Togruta’s Force-signature is null, for now. Almost instantaneously, other Force presences flow into his mind. He smiles as he looks up and sees several Imperial shuttles start their approach. Along with a dark—dark as if to black out the night— _Eta Actis_ Jedi interceptor. He pulls out his newly built lightsaber. A lightsaber built with a crystal purloined, along with scanned copies of his paperbound research, on that night of nights.

The orange blade remains sheathed as he sees the interceptor head to his position.

 **Imperial Center (Coruscant)**  
**Old Federal District**  
**Empire Day 5 + ten days**

A young woman stands in the center of a small room, a room filled with older men. All of them well respected in their various trades and skillsets. The young woman’s trim white tunic bears the same number of rank tiles as most of the others, but she is still the most junior among them. She awaits their pleasure, knowing that she is smarter and more skilled than most of them. The young woman, the six red over six blue rank tiles so new that they shine in the dim light, smiles slightly as she thinks of the road to this room. A road that began on a beautiful Mid Rim world, that had recently continued with two dead brothers, lying in unmarked graves on that small world. Victims of underestimating the young woman, the youngest of their family.

She bows as one of the men nods to her. “Director Antol. Congratulations on both your promotion, and elevation to COMPNOR,” a wizened figure in a distorted hologram says. “As you know, COMPNOR, the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order, is the tip of the spear for all strategic and tactical initiatives of the Empire. But, as evidenced by being here, in this room, you have a further responsibility as a member of the Ubiqtorate. You and the others in this room oversee the security and intelligence apparatuses for the Emperor.”

She watches as his eyes narrow. “You understand that your appointment is only probationary. You can be returned to your previous rank if needed.” She runs cold at his next words. “Or you can be sanctioned in other, more permanent ways.” He smiles an almost fatherly smile, softening the menace, at least for a moment. “You know most of your fellow members. Those who you don’t, you can introduce yourself later. Colonel Yularen, your Deputy for Counterinsurgency, is the secretary of this body. He will orient you further. But first, you have information on a security matter, correct?”

“Yes, Moff Tarkin,” she says. Her eyes narrow as she sees the youngest of the assembled men watching her, a man with an equal rank plaque to hers, but dressed in a unique crimson version of the standard Imperial uniform. She nods slightly to Armand Isard, Director of Imperial Military Intelligence. She sees him glance at the man next to him, Colonel Wullf Yularen, a fellow veteran of the Clone Wars to both of them.

Isard is a decorated Intelligence officer. Now her chief rival, as Yularen had once been. A rivalry that Yularen had never acknowledged, as he had assisted her in navigating the cutthroat world of the Empire.

Isard’s only reply to her scrutiny is a brief smile. “So what have you brought us, Director?” he asks smoothly.

“We have detected an increase in organized crime in the Alderaan sector,” she says without a hint of trepidation at Isard’s question. “It is possible that the corruption might go to the ruling family of Alderaan.”

“Really,” Isard says dryly. “I have known the Organas and Antilles since before the Clone Wars. They have a reputation for integrity that is unmatched. They are also able to keep order and stability in their sector that few Imperial Moffs can achieve.”

“Nevertheless, Director, I think that it warrants investigation. If a Core sector can be destabilized by crime, there is no telling what could happen in others.”

“Organa has recently replaced his Director of Security, has he not?” Moff Jano Secor asks.

Leeza is silent for a moment. “Yes, Moff,” she replies to the newly appointed Moff of the Alderaan Sector.

“So maybe we should wait and see what he does?” he says, his face blank.

Leeza is silent. _That is something a guilty man would say. The marked increase has happened in the few months you have been there._

She fights to control her breathing. A clearing of a throat comes through the comm-speakers. She is certain that Tarkin, even from his desk at Sentinel Base, senses her turmoil, as well as Secor’s possible defensiveness. As chair of COMPNOR, the Mandalore native could be a powerful ally or adversary—especially with his strategic and tactical experience. Leeza centers herself, steeling herself to stare into his steady gray sailor’s eyes.

“The Director is right,” Tarkin says. “We need to make sure of the Core, with things breaking loose in the Outer Rim on Ryloth.” He looks at them all, his skull-like face prominent in the hologram. “Especially in light of what Moff Poldar was doing on Zeltros.” His face returns to his normal placid expression. “But, we do have to move carefully. The Organas are powerful voices in the Senate.” He looks at Leeza. “Start a discreet investigation, Director. Order the Station Chief to get started.”

Leeza Antol bows to hide the triumphant expression. “The Station Chief in Aldera is new at her job. With your permission, I will go and observe, taking over if need be,” she says.

As she leaves, Yularen, Secor, and Isard exchange concerned looks. Secor nods at the unsaid words.

 **Corellia**  
**Five Years and fifteen days since the fall of the Republic**

Daaineran Faygan, former Chief Superintendent and Director of Special Training for the Corellian Security Service, now a member of the board of the Corellian Engineering Corporation, sits waiting in an ornate anteroom at the headquarters of that concern. She shakes her head at the changes in her life in the last two weeks.

The disbandment of the Ranger force, directed at the behest of the Imperial Advisor, had also caused the unofficial/official Intelligence service, known as the House, to lose the official status. This loss had precipitated her conversion to a reserve status in the only job she had ever known. She shakes her head slightly at those changes, forced by the Empire. She looks up and smiles as another woman walks into the room. She rises, holding out her hands.

Kris Tome takes them, and looks at her. After a brief moment, the CorSec officer reaches over and kisses her, then rests her forehead against Dani’s. The two women break away.

“How are you, Dani? You ready for this?” Tome asks.

Dani looks away. “We’ll see. I can’t take Ala’s place for her. Plus I don’t know if I can balance my responsibilities to her and to Corellia.”

“How is her mother?”

The Zeltron feels her eyes tear. She starts to close them, but is centered by Tome’s fingers wiping the tears away.

“She is alive. She is fighting. Dr. Heg seems to think that she will soon be able to move to a convalescent center. What he doesn’t say is that she will probably never be strong enough to leave the center. That she will have to undergo bacta therapy every week for the remainder of her life.”

Both women fall silent. In her mind’s eye, Dani sees Ala Gainsefield and Garen Blackthorn transfixed by Force-lightning on a Separatist world. The young woman’s face nearly bisected by a lightsaber. The man’s mind nearly destroyed, but both still intact enough to profess their love for one another. A lightsaber and lightning wielded by a powerful Sith. One that had nearly done for two Jedi dear to her. One with a new life, the other most probably dead.

“I have to figure out a way to make sure Jamelyn gets to Drall, at least weekly. I don’t want her to forget Ala,” Dani finally says.

Kris smiles. “That tells me that you are the right choice to be her guardian.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But I have to balance other things, as well.”

Unspoken between them are those responsibilities. She sees Tome open her mouth to speak.

“You can say it, dear,” Dani says. “The room is secure and they’re not due for a few.”

“I am still trying to wrap my head around this, Dani. Bryne was made to be Chief Ranger. It is in his blood, to protect this world by birth and the other Four Brothers by tradition.”

Dani nods. “Yeah, I know. But we will find a way. Corellians always do. The Rangers are descended from his title and his or her Companions.” She grins. “Might be time to do it that way again.”

Her eyes widen as she notices Tome’s uniform and its changes. Where a gold representation of an ancient projectile had rested over her heart, a new rank plaque has replaced it. The old rank plaque opposite is gone. The plaque holds two silver pips on its gold background. Dani touches the new insignia. “Well, at least it ain’t red and blue plastic.”

“Yeah.”

“So what is your rank? I haven’t even opened my reserve orders yet to find out mine.”

Tome’s eyes flash with anger. “Our Imperial Advisor’s work. She thinks that she is already the Diktat and is micromanaging everything. Even our uniforms and ranks. I am now a Captain, rather than a Senior Inspector. The old ranks have been abolished and reduced.” She calms. “Not too bad, though. Captain was a traditional Ranger title. I think that you might at least be a Major.” She takes a deep breath. “That is not all. CorSec officers are mostly being recalled to Corellia. The other Brothers will have to fend for themselves or deal with the Empire.”

“Well, she does come from Ensterite stock, supposedly. They hate everything different,” Dani says. She thinks of things that others of that sect had said about her, both to her face and in the bravery of the world behind her back.

“Yeah. I know.” Kris smiles. “One good thing is that I may be able to help you with those other responsibilities. I am permanently assigned as the Elector-Presumptive’s security officer. So that if you need to go out and save the universe, you still can.”

Dani feels a broad smile flow over her face. “That is great. We’ll be able to see each other a bit.”

Kris’s eyes take on a hooded look. “Yeah. May not be able to turn you inside out as much, with Jamelyn around.”

Dani matches her look. “Maybe not. But she does sleep.”

“That’ll work. If you can keep the screaming down and the resonance turned off.”

“Oh, really? I seem to recall that you were the one doing the screaming, dear.”

Kris moves her hand to Dani’s cheek. “Speaking of us screaming a bit, how is Bryne?”

Dani looks away. After a moment, she replies. “He is—healing. I think that he has been hit by many things. Ups and downs. I think that someone else ascending to the Electoral Signet, allowing him to protect, rather than symbolize has helped him.” She doesn’t mention that it also allows him to have contact with members of the nascent Rebellion. Especially a strong and beautiful warrior who makes a certain expression come over his features.

She sobers. “He is at odds as to what to do. He feels Draq’s pain at the machinations of the Imperials. I think this thing where he goes to Alderaan for awhile, to be Bail’s Security Chief, will help focus him for what he has to do for Corellia.”

“When does he leave?”

“It could be a few days or a few weeks. Organa has to figure out a golden escape pod for the current Director. Of course that may entail him working for Bryne. That may be fun, moreso since the Director didn’t really do anything to help find Bryne when he was taken on Alderaan. A certain government official had to overrule him and sideline him.”

Tome grins. “See a lot of our Covenant in the holosheets. He seems to be plowing his way through most of the eligible singles on Corellia. And a few ineligible ones, as well. Including, if they are to be believed, the current Imperial advisor on Corellia, a former Diktat, and that ‘certain government official’ on Alderaan.”

Dani smirks. “Yeah. Our slicer seems to be enjoying himself just a bit too much, building that legend. He may pay for it in the long run.” She grows serious. “It is all part of establishing him, while keeping him kind of shadowy. Nobody seems to know exactly what he looks like.”

“For when he takes a more direct role as Covenant?” Tome says.

“Yeah. He is not too thrilled about it. But it may help us in the long run. He’ll be able to move about the Core worlds a bit easier if he needs to.”

Tome nods. Dani can see in her shrewd dark eyes that she may have gleaned more than Dani has said.

“So how is his finger?”

Dani is grateful for the subject change. “It is healing. He is still in pain. Frankly, I am glad that he will get some more time to heal before he heads to Alderaan. Plus, as a dear friend says, he doesn’t really need that finger for anything important.”

She doesn’t mention that this statement was made in bed, as he and this dear friend both caught their breaths, their skin flush against each other, as her own breathing and gift had calmed next to them. She doesn’t reveal that the dear friend in question is his hunt-sister, as well as Dani’s sister-of-the-heart. Titles that mean the same thing at the basic level. That they share their minds, their hearts, and their bodies; and in the case of Ahsoka’s world—their skills.

“So, have you figured out if he really needs that finger for anything?” Tome says with her own wide grin. Dani rolls her eyes.

“I’ll never tell,” she responds.

Tome looks into Dani’s eyes. “Well, if you are up for trying, give me a call. As I remember, he kept both of us mildly entertained.”

Dani’s stomach flips as she recalls. “Yeah. Mildly is a good word for it.”

Kris’s eyes grow serious. “He, like you, accepts me for who I am. I appreciate that. More than you know.”

Dani nods. They both turn as the door opens. Dani looks down, her heart constricting.

A solemn little girl, her gray eyes reddened from crying, stands in the doorway. She is dressed in a dark blue dress, with the gold chain of her new office weighing her down. Her posture tells Dani that like her soon-to-be foster mother, she would rather have been in shorts and an exercise shirt, kicking a boloball around or digging in the dirt. Dani walks over to her and kneels in front of the little girl. She does not try to touch her. Her heart beats faster as those searching eyes, the eyes of Blackthorns that peer at her from portraits in various old rooms, cuts through her. She meets them with her own dark purple.

“Hello, sweetie,” she says to the little girl.

A little girl that is now the hope of a world, with all that entails. A little girl mourning the loss of her father and still-probable loss of her mother. Both casualties of a war that the Corellians didn’t even participate in. Casualties of a dynastic battle in the House of Blackthorn. A little girl of barely six years old, who is now Dani’s responsibility.

“I’m Dani,” she continues. “Remember me? I am your cousin. I will look after you while your mother gets better.” She winces at the half-truth. The gray eyes look skeptically at her. Dani looks away. _This is harder than I thought it would be_. She can see the child’s lip quivering. She feels Tome’s hand on her shoulder. Bolstering her.

All just before Dani is taken into a tight embrace. She returns the embrace, loosely, allowing escape if necessary. She feels a set of piercing blue eyes looking on her. The eyes of a Dragon. Eyes that are now soft with love.

Dani’s teeth grind as her gaze falls on another, a taller woman in an Imperial uniform. A pair of depthless brown eyes look at her from under a thick mass of strawberry-blonde hair. Dani Faygan stares at Delilah Sal. The Imperial Advisor and quite possible the soon-to-be duly ‘elected’ Diktat of Corellia, and by extension, the other four planets in the system, smiles and nods her head at Dani. Her own eyes remain cool. Especially as she remembers what Draq’ had said about the woman’s rumored, unacknowledged parentage. The spawn of a truly venal woman, who had rejoiced in the nickname given her by other members of the Elder Family.

The Hag of the Blackthorns.

Mailyn Blackthorn. Jamestyn Blackthorn’s ex-wife, who had caused the death of this girl’s father, as well as her ex-husband and his new wife, the mother and father of the current Covenant of Corellia. A woman who had nearly done for Ahsoka, but had paid for the attempt by having the bolt she had fired deflected by the young warrior’s ancient weapon. All the while, Bryne Covenant had lain in a medbed, recovering from the machinations of the Hag and an in-law from his mother’s world of Mandalore.

Dani does not hide her feelings. She turns her back on the Imperial and picks up the Elector-Presumptive, distracting the little girl by tickling her cheek. Jamelyn’s paroxysm of laughter calm’s Dani’s turbulent thoughts.


	2. The General and Idiots of His Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Imperials go into the crime business.
> 
> A Fulcrum searches for her idiots. One in particular.
> 
> A Diner-owner seeks lessons.
> 
> A General finds idiots of his own.

**Coruscant**  
**Imperial Naval Yards**  
**Empire Day 5 + 20 days.**

Leeza Antol, child of an infamous crime family, strides towards the Imperial light cruiser powering down in the nearest dock. She stops and smiles as her eyes fall on the shorter figure standing at the entry port. The figure is clad in a version of Imperial pilot’s armor, albeit with her muscled arms bare with the top of the coverall tied at her waist. Leeza grins at the horrified expressions on the button-downed OOD’s bland features at the other officer, particularly at the brief top she wears under the armor’s chestplate.

The object of the Naval regular’s horror brings her hand up to the cap perched on her short, dark hair, a neutral expression on her tawny features. Leeza returns the salute and pulls the Naval commando into a tight embrace, surprising the side party. “Hey, Cant,” she says.

“Director,” Commander Cantos Lardai says, allowing a tiny upward motion of one side of her lips. The Tattooine native’s almond-shaped eyes betray a slight twinkle at the usual reaction to her from others.

For an instant, Leeza feels a slight bit of privilege that she is one of the few people that might be able to detect those small signs. She shakes her head at her blunt instrument. “Walk with me, dear. I am on a schedule.”

As soon as they are out of earshot on board the vessel, Lardai speaks. “Good to see you, Leez.”

“You too,” Antol says absently. She starts out of her reverie and turns to her soldier.

Antol’s eyes widen as she sees the troubled expression on the commando’s face. “What is it?”

The naval officer stops, pulls her into a small alcove. “We have a problem. Someone is posting entries on the Darknet about the deaths of your family. Just little poems, but there is a great deal of information in them. Information that not a lot of people could know.”

Leeza’s dark eyes lock on Cant’s. “Anything that specifically connects us?”

Lardai shakes her head. “No. But the entries are signed ‘Malikarus’,” she says. “Pretty close to ‘Malaky’.”

“Close, but no cigar,” the Director says. She is thoughtful for a moment. “I wouldn’t worry about it, dear,” she finishes.

Lardai looks away. “Normally, I wouldn’t but for one thing. They used the proper protocols associated with communications from our ‘crime lord’.” Her dark gaze locks with Leeza’s. “Ones that we developed.”

Leeza sits down. She makes a decision. “May need to cut you new orders, Cant. Need you to go to Alderaan. I think that if I have to abandon the operation there, you’ll have to deal with it.” She grins. “Might have to do some more ‘kitchen’ work.”

 **Free Vessel _Opportunity_**  
**Outer Rim**  
**Five years and one month since the fall of the Republic**

Ahsoka Tano lies in bed in the dim light, staring at a scar in the overhead of the comfortable cabin. Her mind travels to so many moments in this cabin. So many moments in which she had grown and changed, in ways beyond what the Order had taught. Moments that included the last time she had seen her hunt-brother and fellow Jedi, Taliesin Croft, before the cauldron of Order 66. Before both of them thought the other had died in that inferno.

Until a day slightly over six months ago when they had fallen into each other's lives again. She grins. _No. They had jumped feet first into each other’s lives_. Punching each other in the face, before falling into each others' light, renewing the oath that they had sworn to one another in the way of her people—a people and a culture that he shared with her through his beloved Master, Shaak Ti.

Since that time, they had been able see each other for less than a handful of times; of varying lengths. They had survived major injuries, deaths of loved ones, kidnapping, mutilations, and his spotty relationship with the Force. All the while building and protecting a seed of a Rebellion against the darkness that had murdered their shared family—the Jedi.

She had been involved in it in one form or another since a year after Order 66, when Bail Organa had come across her in the Outer Rim, trying to survive and stay off of the Empire's radar. Still living the legacy of her birthright by protecting innocents. A birthright that had deserted her, but a birthright she could not ignore. A birthright that she feels every waking moment.

There had been a couple of false starts; of shaky trust on both parts, but she was the chief recruiter and intelligence master of Bail's and other like-minded individuals' movement.

His Fulcrum.

She smiles in the dark. The man once known as Taliesin Croft, Jedi Knight serves as the Tempest. The protector, or as his name and the ancient title of his father's birthworld's Elder Family, the _Covenant_.

Her smile turns worried as she thinks of him recovering from a mutilation by two renegade members of both sides of his family, as well as trying to figure out how he would continue to fight without a consistent connection to that mystical energy field of their shared birthright. She thinks of the strangeness of their lives. Of finding each other again after the death of the Jedi. After they had found a different bond in this very cabin just a month or two before Order 66.

Their bond and comfort had strengthened. At least after they had figured out that they would fight with each other, rather than for, as the ancient oath of hunt-brother and -sister had stated. She shakes her head. _Of course, they still had to work out a true definition of the word 'with.'_

A slight moan from her shoulder brings her thoughts to that comfort and light that they seek. As true hunt-brother and -sister, they fell into each other's light when they could. When they were apart, they had made a silent vow that they would not be exclusive or possessive.They each knew after what they had been through, that they couldn't afford such restrictions—their lives were tenuous at best. They knew their feelings for each other, even if they didn't speak of them. They let their emotions and bodies articulate the bond when they could. She Smirks to herself. _Well, their snark and sarcasm also plays a big part._

Another shared birthright.

She feels a brief kiss on her breast from the Pantoran pirate lying against her. The woman dear to both of them, who had pushed them both to take action on those feelings and emotions that had grown, over a half-decade ago. Feelings more than just as fellow Jedi. The woman who had pushed them with her body and her stubbornness.

Ahsoka allows her lips to touch the pirate’s forehead. She hears a slight murmur in an unfamiliar language against her heart. She closes her eyes as she remembers Lassa Rhayme’s own pain at the same time that she had pushed Tal and Ahsoka towards each other. Pain from the loss of and grief for another fellow-warrior, Asajj Ventress. Grief for one that both Jedi had faced over lightsabers, in deadly contest, as well as fought beside, against various darknesses.

Ahsoka gives a final kiss to the woman on her forehead. She feels her own expression grow thunderous as she thinks of why she is here in this bed. On this ship.

 _Her idiots_. She curses under her breath as she remembers her last conversation with a Dragon. One that did not go exactly as she had thought it would. Or maybe exactly as she had thought, with the added bonus of support from another.

~=~=~=~=~=

“Two hundred fucking thousand credits.”

She grits her teeth against her like response. “Yes,” Ahsoka says, shortly. “Give or take.”

Draq’s piercing blue eyes stare into hers. “We give you this money that my little shit and his new anti-social girlfriend have sliced from the profits that TaggeCo has managed to squeeze from the Stornani—money that you insisted that we reinvest in the so-called Rebellion there. Then one of your idiots manages to let some swindler take it from them? Just wanted to be clear about this, Tano,” he finishes, his tone dropping a good ten degrees.

Ahsoka looks over at Nola Vorserrie. She says nothing, merely watches coolly. Ahsoka feels her lip curl at the younger woman. She turns her gaze back to Bel Iblis. “That is about the gist of it,” she says. “Look, the Stornani are simple people. They are mostly farmers and fighters from Mandalore, trying to find a new life, after all the shit they have been through in the last few years. I watched their world burn at the end of the war.” She shakes her head to dispel the rising tide of memories of her ill-fated campaign to free them. “The farmland on Mandalore was already shrinking in the domes, even before the wars. The New Mandolorians, while bringing peace, weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy about the old ways. Especially when a lot of the farmers were part of the warrior class.”

She picks up her drink and downs about half of it, following it with a sip of water. She stares at the holocomm of her boss, Bail Organa. He remains silent, taking in her fumbling attempts to explain this. She closes her eyes under his gaze.

As she opens them, she gazes out of the viewport at the rest of the orbital cantonment above Corellia. She thinks about getting up and walking out of the lounge on the old _Consular._ Walking out and finding Covenant or Dani and losing herself in them.

She stops those thoughts as she sees yet another Imperial stardestroyer moving out of the Corellian Engineering Corporation construction docks.

Ahsoka looks at Draq’ and Nola. “They are simple people,” she repeats. “Not negotiators. Between the offworld Mandos and Saw’s partisans, they have been squeezed. They didn’t exactly know what to do when they found that those worthless moons of theirs contained the largest goddamned deposits of Tibanna gas outside of any gas giant. It was a windfall.”

“Yes,” Draq’ says. “But they managed to give away most of the rights to TaggeCo and by extension, the Empire. They got nothing.”

“Which is why they need us. What the hell else are we doing, if not helping cells to get started?”

The old man’s eyes narrow. “We are not running a charity, here, Fulcrum. They have to be able to stand on their own feet. We don’t have that kind of money to throw around.”

Her anger flares. “What’s this ‘we’ shit, Bel Iblis?” she manages to grit out. “I haven’t seen your old ass out there on the front lines.” She touches her forearms under her bracers, remembering the pain from the flare of her lightsabers exploding, as she deflected the turbolaser bolts from the Imperial ship. The flare, the brief, intense pain, then nothingness. Darkness for the next three weeks of her life.

Ahsoka feels Nola’s hands cover hers on her forearms. She looks into Nola’s dark eyes, then shifts back to Bel Iblis. “I don’t know why the hell I am even talking to you. All that you give a shit about is your damned investment.” She exhales heavily, as she remembers the Dragon’s pain, watching Bryne Covenant, her hunt-brother, sleep as he recovered from yet another dynastic struggle. She instantly regrets her words.

The Corellian does not back down. “Because it was our slicer who, at great risk to all of us, managed to get this money. You’re not the only one taking risks, dear, and not just to our ‘bottom line’. That includes my nephew who you happen to be screwing on an almost hourly basis since you both got back.” She sees him stop, try to gather his anger. She hears an intake of breath from the hologram. She turns and sees Bail’s angry expression. She looks him in the eye and shakes her head, just as she sees Nola gesture at their boss.

Nola turns and moves closer to the Corellian, almost to his face, her own expression fiery. “That was uncalled for, Dragon. Who she is screwing is none of our goddamned business, and immaterial to this matter. If Ahsoka Tano says she will get the money back, I believe her. I have seen what she can do.” The right side of Nola’s mouth quirks up. “She is a pain in the ass, but she always come through. So get down off of your high fathier and let her do her job.”

Draq’ stares back at Nola. Both of them are nearly of a height. Finally, he nods, softening. “I am sorry, Ahsoka. I know what the both of you mean to each other. I know what you have done for each other.” He looks away. “I love you both for it.”

He takes her right hand in both of his. He slowly pulls her bracer off. He touches the faint scar among the white markings. He pulls the arm to his lips.

Ahsoka closes her eyes at the touch. She can feel both of their angers cooling, but Draq’ does not back down. He holds her hand when he turns to Nola. “You both need to find that money. We can’t keep losing it, if we are going to restore the light.” He turns and leaves the room.

Ahsoka and Nola turn to Bail’s blue tinted holographic features. “Do you have a plan, Ahsoka?” he asks.

 _Good question_ , she thinks.

“Balor is working on something else, but I can shift them. They know the situation there.” She remembers sensations of the huge operative holding her after she had taken on the light cruiser.

“Then go out and get it,” Organa says. His image fades.

She and Nola look at one another. Ahsoka knows that her handler is seeing her floating in the bacta tank, her arms burned almost to the bone. She touches the younger woman’s cheek.

Nola breaks the mood, as Ahsoka had counted on. “Get your shit together, Tano. My ass is on the line as well.” She softens her words by taking Ahsoka into her arms, her lips soft against her left lek.

The words are unspoken, but hang in the air. _Be careful._

~=~=~=~=~=

A barroom brawl at the start of her search had already given Ahsoka and Lassa a name. A name that had for some reason, engendered a thunderous reaction from her pirate. A reaction that she could not dig into the reason for from her friend. She Smirks again. _Not even all of my charms for the last three nights could dig it out._

She lifts Lassa's head from her shoulder and chest. She eases the Pantoran back on to the pillow. Lassa murmurs. Ahsoka freezes, then reaches down and gently kisses the pirate. The Togruta runs her fingers tenderly through the older woman's lavender hair. Lassa's breathing becomes regular again.

Ahsoka smiles and swings her legs over the side of the bed. She reaches down and pulls a pair of underwear on. Hers or Lassa's; she is not too particular. She sighs as she closes her eyes and centers herself. She had spent the last fifteen standard days in various hyperspace jumps to make contact with others of her small, but growing network. Others much less needy than her idiots. Her smile grows as she thinks of the last contact she had made. A contact in which she had laid out an assignment, jumped to hyperspace for two hours, and when she had exited, had a brief one word message.

_Done._

A contact that she had never seen beyond watching a masked, hooded figure with a modulated voice meet an associate across a crowded bar. A contact who moved in such deep Imperial and Hutt space, it would be hard for them to ever meet. A contact known by a single, descriptive code word.

 _Solstice_. The day when everything changes, be it summer or winter.

Ahsoka pours herself a healthy slug of the Tevraki whiskey from the sideboard. She is a Whyren's girl herself, with her _connection_ to Corellia, but she will settle. She walks over to the alcove under the viewport. She sits on the bench seat. Ahsoka stares out at the stars; wondering what Covenant is doing at that moment. She reaches out with her mind and pulls her datapad to her. She hears a small green being's chiding, ruptured syntax as she does. _Frivolous you must not be, young one, with the Force._

Her mind speaks in reply. _Suck it, troll._ After nearly seven years, her pain at being forced from her life as a Jedi is still raw, as well as Yoda's role in it.

She shakes her head and closes her eyes, as she always does when she remembers the Grand Master. She remembers the warmth that he had always projected for her as a youngling, even when she was called before him for some immature hijinks. His joy in the childish youngling games he participated with in spite of his age—usually beating them all with his energy. She remembers his part in the formative event of her life. Her selection as the Padawan of the Chosen One. The Hero Without Fear.

Anakin Skywalker. Once again, she begs forgiveness of her dead in her Remembrance litany, as she always does when her mind has gone to anger. She begs forgiveness of the Grand Master. In her mind, she can hear his response. _Forgive there is nothing to, little one. In the light, you must stay._

She wipes her tears away. She punches a series of buttons on the pad. A query on one name on the Darknet.

 _Calrissian_.

She sighs as she sips her aged whiskey, while waiting on the Darknet to spit out knowledge of an idiot—or at least someone who conned her own idiots out of those credits. She only has that one name, gleaned from a barroom brawl a month ago. A dustup with some Mandos and Corellians, over Corellian dynastic issues had distracted her from her task.

She smiles as she thinks of the subject of that dynastic dustup. She stands up and walks into the marble 'fresher and sits on the edge of the tub. Ignoring the fact that she is only wearing a pair of underwear, she punches buttons on her datapad. A pair of warm green eyes and a crooked smile projects over the console. The close-cropped full beard, a slight reminder of their shared past. A past now gone in an inferno of fire and blood. His eyebrows raise at her nudity, but the smile grows in its power.

"Hey, Bait," she says, a bright predator's smile on her face. The widening grin causes her heart to flip.

"Hey Runt," he replies. "Nice way to open a comm. How're the idiots?"

"Haven't killed anyone yet. How was the first day on the job, your Generalship?"

"Oh, not too bad. Got assaulted, got arrested for getting assaulted, fired two cops, promoted another, pissed off both of my bosses, plus the Queen. Normal day in the life of Bryne Covenant. Oh, gave a couple of lessons to a certain diner owner of your acquaintance."

She Smirks. "Is there video of any of this, Bait?"

"Nope. Oh, yeah. Made friends with a princess. Cancelled any bad stuff out."

Her smile grows warm as tears appear around the edges of her blue eyes. She looks down. "Quite an accomplishment, Bryne, if it is the princess I am thinking about. She is suspicious of everybody."

"Yep. I think a certain huntress might have something to do with that." He smiles. "She misses her 'Soka."

Ahsoka shakes the pain of separation away. "So tell me about your day, Bait. I could use a laugh."

"Well, it all started when I was trying to get some breakfast...."

 **Alderaan**  
**Aldera**

Meglann Florlin walks out of the kitchen as her new server drops a platter full of food. The young woman immediately panics and begins to apologize to her. Meglann sighs and holds up her hand. "It's okay, Tika. Let's just get it cleaned up."

She grabs a broom and dustpan and begins to help the young woman clean the mess up. "Go, Tika. Get the order back in to Gort and the other one."

She shakes her head. Her new cook was so new, she couldn't remember his name. At least he was making Gort step up, as he could cook circles around the Nikto. She sees a couple of legs move into her vision. A pair of legs clad in suit trousers. "Be with you in a moment," she says.

The rest of the legs and the torso crouches down beside her. A left hand clad in a glove, with the small finger and the ring finger bound together gently takes the pan. She tracks up to the face and starts. Her heart jumps as a familiar grin spreads across the face.

"Bryne!" she shouts. She reaches over and draws him into her arms over the debris of the breakfast meal. She feels the smile grow against her neck.

He pushes the rest of the debris into the pan and takes it from her. Her eyes widen as she takes a good look at his face. His face is gaunt and shadows paint the skin under his eyes. An unfamiliar close cropped salt and pepper beard shadows his gaunt cheeks and chin where it had only been around his mouth before.

More gray in it, on his cheeks, as well, to match his hair. But the eyes are the same. They gleam with a hint of laughter, as well as pain. She hands the dustpan to Tika and pulls him to the booth in back. As usual when he comes in, the breakfast rush has already slowed to a trickle.

"How're you doing, handsome?" she asks, as they sit next to one another, their backs to the wall.

The crooked grin returns. "Not too bad, Meglann."

_That could mean anything, from a sucking chest wound to a full mental break._

"Really," he says, seeing the look in her eyes. "May never be able to shoot pool again, but wasn't worth a damn before."

She takes his left hand in hers, rubbing his palm with her fingers. Without a word, he pulls the glove off. She gasps at the angry red scar tissue on his ring finger just above the hand. She steels herself and brings the hand to her lips. She kisses the re-attached finger and then the older disk-shaped scar on the palm and the back of the hand.

"Feels better already, Meglann."

She doesn't ask what happened. She knows a lot of it, from Ahsoka and Nola. She knows that it was a close-run thing after he was kidnapped by angry former in-laws on behalf of a branch of his family on Corellia.

_I thought that my family gatherings at the Festival of Light were taxing._

"How is my girl?" she asks with a smile. She doesn't have to specify. His grin returns. "She's good. We had a good couple of days before she had to go back to work."

They could be discussing the fact that the 'girl' in question was going back to an accounting job, rather than her super-secret, highly dangerous, whatever-the-hell it is.

"She said to tell you that she does miss you and was sorry she couldn't finish your auditions for her 'girl in a port' with you. She did tell me to make sure that you keep up with your lessons."

"You got time for that this visit, handsome?"

"Yep. Going to be here for a while. Maybe six months or more."

Her eyes widen. He looks down. "I'm doing a job for your weekly 'family night' customer."

She nods. "Give the Senator my regards when you see him."

"Will do, Port."

"So when will these lessons start? You sure you got the energy for them, old man?"

"Darlin’, if you can fit me in your busy social schedule, I'll make sure that I'm up for it." His eyes take on another mischievous gleam. "As I was told by a wise and beautiful Togruta, I don't need that finger for anything."

Her own smirk dies as the doorbell jingles. His eyebrows raise as he sees the expression that has moved into her eyes. An expression that had always been unfamiliar as she looked in the mirror at the fading bruise under her right eye.

 _Fear_.

She feels the skin of his fingers on the slight bruise—a feather touch that causes no further pain. His eyes harden as they track to the two humans walking into the diner. She sees a slight look of familiarity on his face at the two large humans wearing expensive business suits.

The smallest of the two walks over to Meglann. "Ahh, Ms. Florlin. Are you ready to discuss terms for your 'insurance premiums?"

The fear in her eyes disappears. "I told you the last time you were here, Eldin. I am not interested in your protection. I refuse to pay to keep you from assaulting me or my diner."

"You would think our last visit the other night might convince you of how painful it can be if you don't pay our rates."

"You're right, Eldin. It can be painful," states a new voice.

Eldin turns and looks at the man seated next her as if noticing him for the first time. Meglann watches as the 'businessman' appears to dismiss what he sees. She looks at what he sees, with fresh eyes. A young human with a mild expression on his face; he could be any of a thousand professors or lawyers seen around the University District.

 _Not exactly a threat_ , Meglann thinks. She smiles. Apparently Eldin hasn't looked at his eyes. She sees the danger there.

"You might want to stay out of this, little man. You might get mussed."

"Can't rightly stay out of it," Covenant says, his Corellian drawl enhanced.

"Why not?"

"I represent the local Assholes Anonymous chapter and am duty bound to invite you and your pet monag here to a meeting."

"You son of a bitch," the thug says. He reaches for Covenant. Meglann smirks and shakes her head.

There is a scream, as Covenant calmly grabs the thug's wrist with his right hand and quickly bends it back. All the way back. The rest is nearly a blur. Covenant is up and shoving the smaller thug with his broken wrist into the larger thug. The large bruiser shoves his compatriot away and swings at the Corellian. Covenant dodges, but is struck on the ear by the thug's follow-up. He staggers, but stays on his feet as his hand goes to his waist to an ornate belt that is incongruous with his business suit.

His hand closes on the metallic handle that Meglann pushes into his hand. He grins as he swings the handle and the object it is attached to into the large bruiser's jaw. The frying pan connects solidly. There is a crunching noise. The thug staggers, but is still on his feet.

A situation that is remedied by the backswing.

Meglann surveys the two thugs, one unconscious, the other writhing in pain. Covenant hefts the frying pan. "How did I do, boss?"

"Pretty good on the backswing. The initial swing needs work, Bryne."

"Drop the weapon!" comes a voice from the front of the diner. They turn and see a slightly older man in a cheap suit, who had been seated at the front walk towards them. "I'm taking you into custody," he says, flashing a warrant doc.

"What the hell for?" Covenant says. Meglann sees a uniformed peacekeeper and two police droids come through the door.

"Aggravated assault and disorderly conduct. Possession of a weapon."

"Well, these two assholes laid hands on me and threatened this young lady."

The cop smirks. "I didn't see that, from where I was seated." His face darkens in anger. "Would you like to add resisting arrest, scumbag?"

Covenant looks at Meglann and mouths the word. _Scumbag?_ She shrugs.

He hands the deadly weapon back to her. "I guess this means today's lesson is canceled?" she says.

"Only postponed, babe. Only postponed. “

She grins. “I've got some money set aside for bail. I've needed to keep it handy since I met a certain huntress."

"Won't need it." He reaches over and kisses her. "Keep the desk cleared off for our lesson, darlin'."

"Actually, I think I will go with you. I might learn something else." She feels the warm grin flow over her face. “Plus, I bought a new couch. Much more comfortable than the old one and the desk combined.”

 **University District Station**  
**Alderaan Peace and Planetary Security**

The processing droid activates as the peacekeepers approach with a prisoner. The desk sergeant looks up from her datapad. The two peacekeepers release the binders from the young human male in a business suit.

The desk sergeant sits back as the green gaze lances into her. The eyes in the bearded face refuse to look away as the sergeant gives her best steely cop look.

The sergeant realizes that she might be overmatched in the steely look department.

"Name." the droid intones.

The prisoner pauses for a second. The plainclothes peacekeeper shoves him a bit, after he drops an worn leather gunbelt with what appears to be teeth inset into it on the charge desk. The sergeant’s eyes widen at the number of weapons on the belt.

"Name, asshole," the arresting officer says after the shove.

The prisoner lifts one corner of his mouth in a smile. "My name is Covenant," he says. The smile grows as he pulls something from his pocket. Both officers start, but relax as they see it is a small metallic object.

Covenant slaps the object on the desk. The desk sergeant's eyes widen in fear as she looks at the object. An object that just might be more dangerous for them than a weapon. A brushed gold square with five dark blue, almost black pips. The seal of Alderaan is laser-etched in gold over the scales of justice. A coded ID is attached to it.

"But you can call me General."


	3. Lessons for the Clueless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Peacekeeper General applies a lesson. At least one Alderaani is harmed in the application.

Meglann Florlin stands back and watches the chaos flow like one of the Eastern Mountains’ rushing rivers. Ever since the two cops had come in and harassed Ahsoka over half a year ago, she had not held Alderaan’s security apparatus in very high regard. She resists the temptation to laugh as she watches Bryne do his worst.

"Sergeant. Get me the District Commander in here, right fucking now," he says. Meglann marvels at the control in his voice. "You," he points at the plainclothes officer who had arrested him. "Put your creds and weapon on the desk there."

"And what are you going to do if I don't, _General_?" the officer says, menace in his voice. The words are scarce from his lips before he has been shoved backwards and his arm is wrapped behind his back in one swift, economical movement. One more movement and his face has met the nearest flat surface. The room goes even quieter as cops, citizens, and malefactors alike marvel at the sound of the demonstration of the new General’s resolve.

Meglann’s smile widens as Covenant removes the cop's weapon and ID. "I'll just do it myself,” he says.

Meglann sees very a large hand come down on the arm of the officer that Covenant is holding. The other hand brings a pair of binders and secures the man's wrists. She watches as Bryne looks into an older, dark-skinned face. A face that is appraising him with a pair of narrowed eyes. The sharp eyes relax. The shaven head dips in recognition. "M'Faru, General. Lieutenant of Inspectors for this District."

She can see Covenant looking at the Lieutenant, as if inspecting him. Without taking his eyes off of M'Faru, he says to the desk sergeant. "Where is the District Commander?"

"I don't know, sir," the woman says nervously. "He is not answering his comlink."

Covenant appears to ponder this for a moment. His eyes lock with the Inspector. "Lieutenant M'Faru. You are now the District Commander. Do you have a Peacekeeper that you trust?" he asks.

The detective smiles. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I do."

"Good. There are two assholes who might be unconscious or injured near this young lady's," he points at Meglann with a smile, "diner. One of them is named Eldin and has a broken wrist. The bigger, dumber one, whose name I didn't catch may have a concussion."

"I know Eldin,” M’faru replies. “Half-assed enforcer for the Antols."

"Antols? From Naboo?"

"What is left of them. You familiar with the Antols?"

"Kind of. From a different life."

M'Faru doesn't blink. "What do you want done with Eldin and his playmate?"

"Bring them both in. I think that I might go pay a visit to the Antol of the day."

"All due respect, sir. That is what you have us for. Plus, nobody really knows who that might be."

Meglann watches as Bryne digests this bit of information.

"General, sir. The Palace is calling,” the desk Sergeant breaks in. “The Hand of the Queen would like to see you at the Palace, as soon as possible."

Covenant looks at Meglann. She smirks. He rolls his eyes. M'Faru is grinning.

"Like I didn't see that coming," the new Peacekeeper-General says.

M’faru’s grin widens. “You should be okay if you make sure she keeps the blaster in the desk. Whatever else you can say about her, I have seen her put a pretty tight grouping in an asshole who tried to blow some folks up, a while back.”

Covenant returns the grin. “Don’t underestimate how big of a pain in the ass that I can be. I think that there is one other in the universe who may be able to compete, at least for the Hand.” His grin fades. Meglann sees the wistful look in his eyes.

M’faru grows serious. "Sir, before you go, you need to know something. I haven't passed my assessment and board for Captain," the detective says."You can't just up and promote me to that rank."

Covenant smiles. "Details, M'faru." He thinks for a moment. "Can't break the personnel and labor regs, I know. But I can sure as hell circumvent them." Meglann watches him forge ahead. "I can appoint you as a Major, however. Any of those three ranks above Captain. Three years it'll become your permanent rank. Easy."

"You've been in the job, like five minutes. How the hell do you know the personnel and labor regs on a world you aren't from?" the officer asks incredulously.

"I only know the ones that are easy to bend, Major." His face darkens. "Tell the old DC that he is transferred to HQ. To a new unit." Meglann watches as his features brighten again with a crooked grin. "The Island of Misfit Captains."

~=~=~=~=~=

Nola Vorserrie, Senior Representative for Alderaan in the Imperial Senate, and Hand of the Queen, looks up as Covenant walks through the door of her office. Her first instinct is to walk over and take him in her arms, as she sees the remnants of pain on his face. She shakes memories of past pain from her own mind. A reminder. She does walk over and kiss him, her lips lingering on his. She feels his lips form into a smirk. A smirk that would have done credit to the young woman that both worry about on a regular basis.

"So, Last Word. Go ahead and give me the ass-chewing."

"Oh, no. I am not going to do that. Not really my place. I am going to let the Viceroy do that. Or maybe even the Queen."

His eyebrows raise at that. "The Queen? Why?"

"She is the chief of state, Bard. Bail technically answers to her. As do I." Her eyes grow hard. "She is the one that made the final recommendation to Bail that he bring you in. To make his life easier. You already have made it hard."

Nola watches him as he takes that in. She sees his eyes fall; steels herself not to let up. She starts to tick off on her fingers. "Let's see. You get arrested after about two minutes on the job. Your name is still on the blotter at that station. Two. You arrest and fire a decorated Peacekeeper. Three. You transfer the DC of arguably the most significant district on Alderaan next to the Government district. Four, you promote a skilled and decorated lieutenant, but one with serious issues with authority."

Bryne looks up at her. Nola can see him plant his feet in the carpet of the office, as if locking to the floor, an immovable object. She is sure that this is the same expression of stubbornness that his Master, a serene huntress who had once helped him save her life, had looked upon with a mixture of affection and frustration, according to Ahsoka.

He takes a deep breath before he speaks. "Well, if you would like, I will take the time to explain every goddamned decision I make to Her Majesty. I'll try and save some time and explain it to you. One. It was an illegal arrest by a officer who will be proven to be corrupt and is probably decorated because he kept arresting the enemies of one particular crime family. Three. The DC wasn't at his post and didn't answer my call. I don't need someone in that significant position I can't find. Four, M'Faru. Well, he may have the reputation of being insubordinate because of who his boss was."

Nola drops her head, trying to bite back a laugh. He stops as he sees her movement. “What?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“You left out ‘two’,” she says dryly, her lips continuing to twitch.

She lets the smile flow to her lips as the green eyes roll to the ceiling. They close as he pauses, gathering himself. She nods to him as the windows snap open again. "I will be happy to explain to their Majesties what I am doing,” he continues, “as I am offering my resignation." Covenant smiles ruefully. "May hold the record for the shortest tenure as Director."

"You already have explained, Bryne," comes a warm voice from the door. Nola turns and bows. After a breath, Covenant mirrors the movement to the powerful woman in the door. Her rich clothing belies the simple warmth and love in her dark eyes. Warmth overlaid by steel.

~=~=~=~=~=

Covenant’s eyes track downward. "I am sorry, your Majesty." He pulls the rank plaque and warrant doc combination from his pocket.

She shakes her head and closes his hand over it. "No, Bryne. I may be worried that you are causing more problems for my husband, but I won't let you give up that easily." She comes closer to him. Covenant’s eyes track to the tiny, dark-haired, dark-eyed dynamo who trails her. A dynamo who clearly has the Queen, her husband, and most of Alderaan wrapped around her fingers. Not to mention a powerful huntress who is building their vision of a free galaxy with her blood and tears.

"Alderaan will be the center of this movement, Bryne. We are funding and secretly arming a larger rebellion." Her eyes tear briefly. "My husband will be the center of this. But we still have to protect our people from the everyday threats. That is why you are here. Draq' Bel Iblis seems to think that you are that man." She looks over at Nola. “So does the Hand of the Queen.” Nola looks away.

Her smile grows even warmer. "I know what your name means to the Elder Family of Corellia. We have a similar title here on Alderaan. It is vacant, but I think that we will borrow our Brother world's Protector for a while."

Covenant feels his eyes widen as Breha's warm hand touches the side of his face. "I see what our huntress sees in you; what makes that proud warrior's heart leap." She smirks. "As well as other places."

His face grows warmer at that. The Queen’s dark eyes grow harder. "Do what you must to protect my world, General Covenant. But if you make my love's life harder, I will send your ass back to Corellia in a heartbeat."

Covenant notices that a small hand is tugging at his trouser leg. He crouches down to her level. "Your Highness," he says, inclining his head.

"Are you 'Soka's friend?" she asks, her eyes examining him like those of one of his Peacekeepers conducting an interrogation.

"Something like that,Your Highness,” he replies as he sees the servos turning.

"Good." she says simply. "We're going swimming in the lake today. Can you come with us? With Flori and I?" She points at a young Zeltron who has followed them into the room.

They share a warm smile for each other. Another of Ahsoka's rescues. _Much like me._

"I would love to, sweetie. But I have some things that I have to do for your mom and dad."

"Okay," she says, the two syllables of the word drawing out, her eyes downcast.

"Maybe another time, love," the Queen says with a smile.

The girl nods. She allows a bright smile to spread across her face. "Maybe you can throw me up in the air like 'Soka does."

"I would be honored, Princess. I only hope I can do it as well as she can."

"Yeah," Leia says, the wattage of her smile fading slightly. "I miss her." She pulls him into her small arms. He picks her up.

He catches a glimpse of Breha's eyes tearing as she sees the look in his own eyes. "I miss her too, sweetie," he says quietly.

~=~=~=~=~=

Bryne can see Ahsoka looking down in the holo. "I miss you both, Jame," she says, using the name he was born with.

"When will I get to throw you up in the air in that lake, Runt?"

The riposte does what it meant to do. She Smirks; an almost genetic expression for the huntresses that he has known. One that is his favorite, next to the predator's smile. "I doubt that you could, old man."

"Yeah. You're right.You could stand to lay off of the _Akar_ sausage."

"When I see you, turd, you're going to pay for that one."

"I look forward to it, _cyar'ika_."

She sighs. "Gotta go, Tempest. Idiot-proofing the movement is calling my name."

"Can't think of anyone better, Fulcrum. In spite of the little progress made with me."

"Still working on it, _ie_."

He sees a mischievous expression in her azure gaze. "Give her a stroke or two for me, Bait."

As the comm disengages, Covenant turns to the young woman lying next to him on an improvised bedroll on the floor of the office of a diner. She smiles sleepily as she snuggles closer to him. He reaches down and kisses her. "Well, you heard the boss, sweetie."

He feels her warm hand move towards his center. She grasps him and rises above him. Covenant kisses her again and with a squeak from her, he flips her underneath him. She pulls him inside of her; arching her back.

Meglann laughs as his mouth tracks to her breasts. The laugh changes to a gasp at the motion of his tongue and lips against her skin.

"Not a bad first day on the job, General," she manages to say as the light rises, "Probably could've raised her morale if you had left that comm on for a bit."

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka Tano stares at the datapad for several moments after they break the connection. She stands from the edge of the tub and walks back into the main cabin. She grimaces as she sees the search running on the device in her hands. She looks over at the bed and sees that the covers have moved off of Lassa's body. She lies still, her legs slightly parted, with one knee up. A slight smile on her lips.

The screen’s light continues to flash over Lassa’s blue skin as it searches in the near darkness of the room. Ahsoka places the pad on the sideboard, its screen down. Her hands move to the waistband of the underwear. The garment is down over her thighs before she stops and curses under her breath. Her eyes are drawn back to the now-dim datapad, still searching high and low. With a sigh, she pulls the underwear back up and picks the device up. She turns and walks into the viewport alcove, so that the light will not disturb Lassa any further.

On the bed, the object of Ahsoka’s concern for her slumber opens one bronze eye. _So much for tempting her to relax from her current obsession,_ Lassa Rhayme thinks.

The feared pirate of the Outer Rim makes a decision. She climbs from the bed and follows Ahsoka into the alcove. Ahsoka turns towards Lassa, her mouth opening to say something. The Togruta's eyebrow markings raise as Lassa pulls closer and snatches the datapad from her hands. The pad goes flying into the main cabin, onto the now-vacant bed.

Lassa places her hands on Ahsoka’s shoulders and shoves her gently to the bench seat under the stars. She kneels in front of the younger woman and yanks the underwear down. Ahsoka's cries soon punctuate the air as Lassa dips her head towards her center.

 _Sometimes you just have to hit her up side the head with a club,_ Lassa thinks as she concentrates on distracting the young woman.

_Who needs a Zeltron twit?_


	4. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A past catches up to Fulcrum, at least partially.

Ahsoka Tano crawls towards consciousness. She realizes that her mouth is dry; her stomach growls with hunger.

 _Strange._ She had actually treated herself to bar food in the establishment in the outlander district of the small village the night before. She had spent a small amount of her precious credits on a small plate of wings with a couple of glasses of _netra'gel_ , rather than endure another tube of ration paste, at least for one night. That had been a few hours ago.

She pulls herself out of the narrow bunk of the surplus light freighter. She stumbles to the small 'fresher. Her bladder is bursting. The young woman strips her clothing off. As she relieves her bladder, she happens to glance down at the discharge. Her eyes widen. The color, a dark orange, indicates severe dehydration in a Togruta of her age and physical ability—very severe dehydration.

Ahsoka knows that she had drank plenty of water the night before. She had taken Rex's lessons to heart on the rare times that he had allowed her out with the _Vod'e._ " _Drink another bottle, Commander. You'll thank me, even if you aren't drinking alcohol."_

His dry accent cuts through her mind. She pulls out two pre-packaged water bottles and drains them. Her headache, which she has just noticed, remains. She steps into the sonic scrubber and lathers up with the accompanying gel. The sonic waves beat all over her body; her montrals scream as usual with the ultrasonic.

Ahsoka turns the ultrasonic off and pads naked into the main compartment. She pulls the same clothes on that she had dropped on the deck when she had exited her bunk. When on a strange planet, she usually sleeps in her clothes, to be ready for any contingency. She idly checks her comm.

She drops it to the deck and sits down hard on the bunk as she sees the date. Panic flows through her body. _Something isn't right,_ she thinks. She digs into her pocket. She unfolds the piece of flimsi of the bar receipt. Her heart rips from her chest.

The dates don't line up—she is missing five days. She closes her eyes and centers herself. She reaches out to the Force. She senses no danger, but something is off. As her heart rate calms, she begins to look at more mechanical warnings. Nothing on the ship seems to be disturbed. She palms open her tiny, hidden safe, moving her fingers through the contents. Ahsoka’s expression darkens. Her supply of credits is as she remembers it, with one exception. About a thousand credits have been added. She looks at the receipt again. Her indulgence is accounted for; her unknown benefactor had added in the amount she had spent.

Ahsoka examines the extra credits; there is nothing remarkable about the cash. She moves to the hatch and checks the slight amount of powder that she always had dusted at the entry port. Her breathing increases as she sees the smudges in the very faint dusting.

_Don't panic, Tano. Not yet._

She climbs the ladder to the cramped cockpit. She stumbles as she looks out at the different colored sky than the one she had seen before. She opens the computer console and accesses the logs. She enters her code.

The logs have been wiped. The position in the navicomputer was a thousand light years from where she had been. She is now in the Outer Rim, rather than the Mid.

 _Okay. You can panic now._ Her brain starts on a rapid information overload, as she tries to catalog what she can remember. _My name is Ahsoka Tano/I was born on Shili nearly nineteen years ago in a clanstead near the Lar River/I was a member of the Jedi Order from age three until about age sixteen/My codename is Fulcrum/I have had sex with three people in my life/three and a half if you count that smuggler I fumbled around with on Level 1313/Taliesin Croft was my hunt-brother/He died, as far as I know, during Order 66 two years ago/He was my first male lover when I came of age/He was originally my clan-master in the Clawmouse youngling clan/Barriss Offee, a fellow Padawan, who betrayed me and nearly caused my death, was my first lover._

Her eyes snap open as she clears her mind. _The things that your mind goes to when you are scared and can't figure things out,_ she thinks sheepishly. _Of course, the only thing I really remember in the last few days is that goddamned plate of spicy nuna wings._

She sits back and hurriedly calls up in the protocols for going deep cover; she is able to access them in her brain easily. She enters a code into her comm. The holo function activates. She idly thinks _that isn't supposed to happen._ She starts to speak the code words. _Fulcrum. Submerge. Authentication...._ when the words freeze at the image.

Bail and Breha Organa kneel; their hands bound behind their backs. An Imperial officer comes into view, holding a crying little girl. Ahsoka can see smoke and flames building in the background. Two Imperial stormtroopers appear behind the couple. The troopers pull their blaster carbines and place them at the backs of the man and woman's heads. The Organas look up at the holo pickup. They stare accusingly at her as the muzzles touch their heads.

Ahsoka screams and screams and screams.

 **Free Vessel _Opportunity_ **  
**The Outer Rim, near the Mandalore Sector**

Ahsoka leaps up from the couch as the vivid picture recedes into the mists of her mind. Her equilibrium flips as she nearly falls on her ass, but manages to recover. A more vivid picture plays into her mind. The picture of a familiar Pantoran's face inches from hers as the woman seizes and holds her. She feels strong hands caressing her back.

"Shhh, babe. I got you. You're safe." The mantra is repeated in a soft Pantoran accent.

 _That didn't happen. It is not real,_ Ahsoka thinks to herself as Lassa sits her back down on the couch.

As her breathing slows, she becomes conscious of two things. One, Lassa is fully dressed. Two, her own underwear is down around her ankles. A fact that probably contributed to her nearly winding up on the deck when she jumped up. She lays her head on Lassa's shoulder, giving into the rocking the pirate employs in an attempt to calm her.

Ahsoka shakes her head and pushes Lassa away. The Pantoran's bronze eyes lance into her with several emotions flowing through them. Concern. Fear.

Maybe a bit of love.

"So what the hell was that?" the older woman asks.

"Nothing," Ahsoka says, unable to meet the gaze.

Lassa's reaction is predictable. "What the fuck do you mean, nothing?" she explodes. The fire immediately cools. "I have held you before when you have woken up from nightmares. Nightmares in which you died a horrible death. They didn't even sound like that."

Ahsoka gently disengages herself from the pirate's arms. She picks up the abandoned glass of whisky; drains the tiny bit remaining. She takes a deep breath as she deliberately places the glass back on the side table. "That's because, this time, someone important to me died because of my mistake." Ahsoka closes her eyes. She can tell that Lassa will not let the matter drop. "You remember when you found me in that bar, waiting on some dirtbag who answered my dumbass post on the Darknet about my interest in collecting lightsabers?"

Lassa smiles gently. "How could I forget? It was one of the best moments of my life. Seeing a dear friend sitting in a bar, alive and mostly whole after thinking she had been slaughtered with the rest of the Jedi." She touches Ahsoka's face. "Even though she was being a dumbass, sitting there drinking cheap whiskey, about to meet with one of my mistakes."

Ahsoka gathers herself again. "I was reeling from a mistake of my own. Not just Order 66."

Lassa sits next to her, waiting—patiently, for now. "I was already a member of the Rebellion for about eight months when you found me," Ahsoka says quietly.

Lassa's eyebrows rise into her hairline. "Thought that was a couple of years later, babe."

"No, that's just when Nola got involved. To bring order to my chaos. Or at least attempt to," she says with a Smirk.

"She's still working on that, isn't she?" Lassa says slyly.

Ahsoka gives her a hard look, but it doesn't quite reach her lips as they quirk upward. She sobers. "I was reeling and I may have made some bad decisions, such as that posting."

Lassa reaches over and takes her hand. She rubs it between her own. Ahsoka is sure that Lassa knows her well enough to see the struggle in her eyes.

"I was reeling because I woke up on my ship missing about a week,” she continues, her voice a whisper. Her face crumples.

Lassa kisses her on her forehead as she continues. "I sent comm protocols saying I was going deep, long-term undercover. Didn't have to give a reason. I blew up my ship, collected everything and moved around."

"Did you think that you had been manipulated?" Lassa asks.

"I did at first. I was so ashamed and scared. Scared that I had gotten Bail and the others killed.That was the dream."

"You didn't, though. How did you figure it out?"

"Haven't, actually. I spent a lot of time in bars and above bars meditating and drinking a bit." She laughs, a tiny sound in her despair. "I searched my feelings—had been hammered into me from the time I was three years old. Try as I might, I couldn't find any memories even in the Force. Then one day, I was sitting in hyperspace in the hold of a slow-hauler I had stowed away on. I was just about to come out of the Force, when something tickled at me."

Lassa sits rapt, squeezing the ex-Jedi's hand. "It wasn't anything definite. I just felt like something was drawing me to find a lightsaber." She smiles. "I did feel like whoever had done that to me, didn't do it out of malice. I only felt warmth, with a little bit of unscrupulous overlaid. Like two different people. I couldn’t detect a full Force-signature, only residual. I needed to know more." She rubs her forehead markings with her right hand. "I convinced the pilot of a long-range scout to take me back to where it started for me."

"Convinced?" the pirate says, a slight smile lifting both corners of her mouth.

"Yeah. Not something I was proud of. I hoodooed him a little bit, as you would say." Her own lips quirk up. "Of course, he was in the area of Shili. Didn't feel so bad messing with his mind, especially since I had to fight off four hands intent on pawing my ass."

Lassa laughs at that image.

Ahsoka looks away. "Course, I still wound up paying him most of my credits."

The pirate shakes her head. "Damned soft hearted do-gooder."

"I got there and avoided all of the towns and clansteads and hunt-fasts, at least at first. I went into the bush. I found a cave that the _Akul_ beasts avoided. I hid my own lightsabers and went deep into the Force for a week."

"Did you find what you were looking for, Ahsoka?" Lassa asks gently.

Ahsoka pauses before answering. "A bit. Not all of it. The Force convinced me that I hadn't been manipulated. It also told me that I needed to find the lightsaber."

"So you weren't crazy when you made the post." the pirate says. It is not a question.

Ahsoka gives a crooked smile, reminiscent of a hunter that they both know. "Maybe only a little."  
"It did, after all," she says, "lead me back to a crazy-ass pirate and her quick trigger finger. You be the judge."

Ahsoka yelps as Lassa suddenly bites her shoulder. The pirate follows it with a kiss. "So sorry. I slipped. You were saying?"

"Bitch. I still don't know what fully happened. When I got that saber from your ex-boy-toy, as I used it more and more, to keep my identity better hidden, I got the idea that I knew the user. I got a feeling of warmth. That's all,” Ahsoka says, her eyes filling. “Of love."

She falls quiet. They both look down. Lassa yanks Ahsoka to her feet. She puts her hands on the young warrior's shoulders. "I don't have all the answers like that red-skinned twit that you hang around apparently does," at this, she gives Ahsoka a hooded look, "but I do know that you are beating yourself up over these goddamned idiots. You have been obsessed with finding out who swindled them."

Ahsoka looks down. Lassa puts her fingers under her chin and lifts it up. "We are going to fix that now. I am contacting your little perverted buddy, Baldrick. We'll get him on the case, rather than you fumbling around on the Darknet. 'Cause that worked out so well, last time." She smirks, a mischievous look flowing to her eyes. She reaches down to the floor and pulls Ahsoka's underwear up, snapping the waistband over the rebel's middle, drawing a yelp. Her hands drift up over Ahsoka's torso, lingering on her breasts. Ahsoka draws a sharp breath; almost a gasp as the pirate's thumbs tweak. "As beautiful as these are, I don't think that you want to be showing them to Phygus Baldrick. They may wind up on the 'net. I know that you don't have an ounce of modesty in you, but Organa probably doesn't want his ace Rebel popping up on the webs like that.” She rests her cheek against Ahsoka’s. “Might improve recruitment, though."

Their laughter rises together. When they catch their breath, Ahsoka gently touches her forehead to Lassa's and gazes into her eyes. "Thanks, Lassa," she says. "I appreciate it. But it is time for you to come clean as well. Why does the mere mention of the word 'Calrissian' make your blood pressure spike?"

Lassa falls silent. Her lips are a thin, straight line. She pushes away from Ahsoka and turns slightly away. She pulls her arms across her chest. "I don't want to go into any details, but let's just say that young Mr. Calrissian might have a particular scar on his ass and leave it at that." She slaps the butt of her holstered blaster.

 _Good to know,_ Ahsoka thinks. _He apparently has gotten close to my pirate. Close enough for her to have to shoot him. Only Covenant has beaten the odds and never gotten shot._ She smiles to herself. _And me._

“Well,” Ahsoka says, “that narrows it down. At least I know your problem is a ‘he’.”

“Ain’t they always?” Lassa responds quickly.


	5. Cops and Pirates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Covenant stands his ground. Lassa thinks about people she has shot.

A very large man, dressed in the armor of a recent war, watches the hive of activity near a fast-rising structure on the plains of Lothal. His eyes, a shade of medium-to-dark amber—depending on the light, narrow in concentration at the images on the range-finder of his helmet’s HUD.

Dozens of workers and droids move more and more supplies into the enclosure, as others add the supplies to the growing structure. His eyes lock on the Aurabesh stenciling on several of the crates.

Sienar Fleet Systems. The dark eyes, eyes that were once duplicated in millions of his brothers, or at least closely duplicated in his case, narrow at the sight. He remembers the intel bulletins that Mouse, er, _Fulcrum_ had forwarded to him. He had mostly ignored them, or read them and forgot them, but he remembers a deal between Corellia, Alderaan, and the Mon Cal that basically denied Sienar a lucrative monopoly on those worlds.

_Guess they are getting over it. The Imps seem to like them enough._

The man once known as Drop, now adopted into an ancient Mandalorian family, idly wonders if his General, his brother, who does not even know that he is alive, had something to do with the Corellian part of this deal. _Probably. Sounded like there was chaos involved._

He sends the memories to the deepest part of his mind. His eyes move to the beautiful blonde woman who seems to be directing operations. He can see that she is yelling and gesticulating at an Imperial officer. The officer’s expression is unreadable, but his body posture reminds the former GAR trooper of a subordinate’s silent disdain for whatever the superior is saying at that particular moment.

He snaps a screen capture of the woman and sends it to the ‘brains.’ He can almost feel the small figure’s eyeroll.

He grins with pride. _Not so small anymore. We could take one of the pillows on the pilot seat off just last week_. His eyes grow sad as he thinks of a little girl growing up without a mother. On the edge of the galaxy. Not for the first time, he thinks of finding someone to take care of her. To let her grow up in somewhat normal circumstances. 

He shakes his head. _What the hell is normal, these days?_ Script pops up on his HUD. _Baroness Asla Sienar-Rudor. Project Manager for Sienar Fleet Systems. Former Chief Operating Officer._

 _Stop looking at her butt,_ flashes on the screen.

He rolls his eyes as he thinks of the curse of being the guardian and parent of a preternaturally intelligent and wise-beyond-her-years child. The progeny of a Null-class commando clone and a Jedi Knight.

A progeny born of an unnatural experiment, but one who is no less loved. No less his child.

“Wiseass,” he says into his pickup. 

A musical giggle sounds in his ears. “I’ll tell Mom,” his daughter says. He grins at their own little joke. A growing list of things that she will tell her mother when they find her, of his misdeeds and clumsiness.

_When they find her, not if._

Their way of coping with the unacceptable alternative. That Jedi Knight Elle Jaquindo died in the holocaust of Empire Day. They both grow quiet, as they always do, even after the humor of the coping mechanism.

“So does you nice little computer report say anything about her other than her former and present job titles?”

“I have a report from the Corellians,” she says. “It says she can be easily manipulated in certain situations.”

His eyes narrow. “So who wrote the report?” he asks. “Can’t pronounce their first name. Starts with a _Dorn_. Last name is Faygan.”

Drop smiles as memories cascade. “It’s pronounced DAHN-nerrun,” he says, sounding it out. “But she goes by ‘Dani’.” 

“You know her?” He hears the smirk in her voice. “Did you look at her butt?”

“Yep. I did. But I am pretty sure that your Mom did, too,” he says with a slight laugh. “Dani had a big heart, when I knew her. But I think she probably lost her love when _Buir_ Elle disappeared.”

He shakes his head. “I am going to move in closer, love,” he says.

“Think you might want to come on in. Your boss is calling. The one we aren’t supposed to know who she is. She needs us to head to Stornan.”

“Shit,” he says simply. “All right. I am heading to the flats. Pick me up there. Try not to crash.”

“Right. Like I am the one we have to worry about that with.”

Drop climbs down from the roof. His thoughts are dark as he mounts the swoop.

 _Idiots_ , he thinks.

~=~=~=~=~=

Covenant walks into the ancient square fortress that serves as the headquarters of Peace and Planetary Security. He enters through the public door and up to the desk. Civilians and officers mill about in the large, marbled anteroom. A pair of peacekeepers, clad in dark-blue, almost black form fitting pullover tunics watch him curiously as he walks up. Their eyes light on the weapons belt and move towards him. He stops in front of the desk. The impassive security droid’s photoreceptor comes on and scans him. The light switches to red for an instant, as it scans the gunbelt, as well.

The eye morphs to green as it scans the pocket of his trousers. He reaches in and pulls out the plaque, placing it on his coat lapel. The two officers stop in confusion, then snap to attention and salute. He returns the salute properly, then heads to the door marked ‘Employees Only.’ As he approaches, the door snaps open. 

He suddenly realizes he has no idea where to go. “Lost on your first day, huh?” comes a deep voice from behind him. A massive peacekeeper, dressed in uniform, stands from where he sits near the elevator. He sketches a salute at Covenant. 

“Yeah, well, cupcake, they told me you would be here to hold my hand,” the new Director says.

Boge M’Faru grins. The bruises from their last meeting have healed. On both of them. “Didn’t dance well the last time we met. So tell me. How was your date?”

“Not bad. Appreciate you boys acting as my dating service.” He looks away, remembering the night when Ahsoka had walked into the tiny roll-house, dressed to the nines, as he bled and sat in handcuffs while the large, shaven-headed bruiser and a slightly smaller Sergeant with an almost incomprehensible accent kept him company.

Both parties had been lured to the meeting under false pretenses. “Wasn’t us. A very persuasive and beautiful Hand of the Queen threatened our lives.”

Covenant grins. “Yeah, you get used to it after awhile. So where is your playmate?”

“Murta? He’s off doing something for the University District Commander.”

“Ah. So you are a chip off of the old block.”

“Yeah. You don’t miss a thing, do you, General? About that. Since you decided to make him the DC, I can’t work there. So I guess I am your new babysitter.”

“Marvelous. A very large, borderline insubordinate babysitter who knows what it feels like to punch his General.”

“Not my first choice, either. The new Chief of Administration wanted to send me down to being a the Resident PK in some hole of a backwater village.”

“I still might,” comes a sharp voice from behind them. Covenant turns. A colorless man in a sharply pressed gray suit stands in the corridor. He jerks his head at Boge. Boge looks at him, then turns to Covenant, waiting for his instructions.

Nels Somar, until three days ago the Peacekeeper-General and Director of Peace and Planetary Security for the sovereign world of Alderaan, stares at M’Faru, his anger rising.

Covenant’s own eyes narrow. He calms, works to diffuse the situation. “Peacekeeper M’Faru. Go find Sergeant Locke,” he says. “I think you can help him out in what he is doing, if I am right about what Major M’Faru assigned him to do.” Boge nods, a slight grin quirking the left corner of his mouth. “And, since you seem to now be working for me, go find some civilian clothes. Preferably something that doesn’t scream ‘cop’.” The large Peacekeeper nods. He comes to attention and salutes Covenant in military fashion. 

“I’m sorry, General,” says Somar, “but this Peacekeeper is under disciplinary action. He cannot be assigned to your office. Also, he is not performing investigative duties under his position description, so he cannot wear civilian clothes.” His features are split by a triumphant smile. “He is no longer an Inspector. Neither is Sergeant Locke.”

“Oh, really?” Covenant says, dryly. Several beings from Covenant’s past would recognize danger in his stance. An appearance of locking his feet to the deck. Even though he has been dismissed, Boge apparently decides to stay and watch the fun.

“Well, I will review his disciplinary case. Pending that, he is assigned to me, along with Sergeant Locke. Their duties will be whatever I need them to be.” A slow smile spreads across his regular features. “I have checked your PD as well, Colonel. It says nothing about investigative or undercover duties. So I will expect you to be in uniform when you report tomorrow morning.”

Somar is silent as he looks at Covenant with loathing. He nods and turns away.

 _Guess it is too much to ask for a salute_ , Covenant thinks. 

~=~=~=~=~=

The small pinnace detaches from the larger corvette; arcing over the old pirate vessel. There is a bit of a waggle of the wings as it passes near a particular viewport. 

Lassa Rhayme smiles as she sees the maneuver from that viewport. She turns and walks back to the sideboard. She starts to pour a whiskey, but stops and sighs. She walks over to the small table and chairs. She pours a cup of caf from the remains of breakfast. She sighs as the two settings bring back memories. Not just of the young rebel who had woken her this morning.

As she had every morning. She grimaces as she remembers breakfast and her acting-cook’s earnest look.

 _Well, at least he is a good gunner._ She remembers those who had filled that position in the past. A warm Corellian grin with accompanying green eyes. A man whose eyes had grown just as warm for the young warrior who had just left. Two people who mean more to her than anyone else in the universe, save her crew. 

Her bronze eyes grow fierce as she thinks of another who held that position for a brief time. A smooth young man with an easy patter and a ready grin of his own. One not exactly warm, but had warmed her for awhile at least. He had convinced her he could be of use, after she helped him out of a tight spot a year or so ago. It had only been a matter of time before he found himself in her bed.

As some of her more jaded crew might say, it was only a matter of time before he betrayed her—few who stayed in her bed for any length of time had never. A huntress and her Corellian hunter-cook are two of them. She looks at the bed again. _It had been awhile. Guess I was due again_ , she thinks ruefully. 

This time the betrayal had been more personal than professional, as he allowed the one person in the universe in her presence that she would not accept, under any circumstances. Her father. General Sorentin Rhayme. The man who had committed the ultimate betrayal. Deserting her and her mother to follow some stupid-ass fight or quest or _something._

Unbidden thoughts of the young man’s skin against hers as her lips trace to his…. 

She curses and gets up. She takes the whiskey decanter from the sideboard as the memories cascade. His name sounds as a curse in her mind.

_Lando._


	6. Lawyers, Guns, and Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum returns to Storan. She is not happy.
> 
> Meglann and her frying pan get the last word.

The head of Clan Kryze on Stornan, starts to tune the arguing idiots out from her hearing. She concentrates on the fact that she actually has no clan remaining on this world. Her ears perk up as she hears Gege Merik speak up, a defensive tone in his voice.

“…I brought someone in who I thought could help us get out of the mess we were in.”

“The mess you got us into, you mean, when you tried to do something you weren’t smart enough to pull off,” Nal Janid says.

Merik looks at him. “I don’t think that I need to justify my actions to you, _darmanda_ ,” he says, his eyes flash. Janid bristles at the insult to his name. Hands move to weapons.

She stands, her own hand going to her blaster. Her threat is enough to move the other hands away.

“I made the decision to do something. The Togruta wasn’t doing anything,” Merrik continues, his eyes on her.

“Besides bleeding for you and nearly dying,” Jan says.

Gege rolls his eyes. “I find it hard to believe she did what everybody says she did.”

“Maybe if you would actually listen to the rest of your Committee of Public Safety, and not go behind everyone’s back, you might not have brought someone in that could lose the money entrusted to you.”

This comes from a high, young voice from behind. They turn to the voice. A young Togruta, her lekku and markings covered with a large brown and white scarf stands in the door.

A young woman that a few of them had last seen in the arms of a large clone, what skin they could see pale, her chest barely rising in respiration.

She walks in, her step confident. Her battered leather jacket is over one powerful arm. “So. Anyone want to enlighten me on what might’ve happened?” she asks, her voice as dry as the wastelands outside of _Manda’yaim’s_ domes.

t’Kryze’s expression is sober.

Fulcrum has returned.

~=~=~=~=~=

Covenant sits outside of the Square on a small bench. The remains of his _shura_ pastry sits next to him as he sips his caf. He looks down as he thinks of his first day on the job. _Wonder if Dani needs help with the Elector?_

He looks up as a shadow crosses over him. A vaguely familiar face stares down at him. A tall man with dark eyes and bronze skin looks down at him. The shadow is dressed in an expensive suit. “Hello, General,” he say, his voice sharp, but with an odd cadence. His teeth barely move as he speaks.“I heard that you have had a busy day.”

Covenant doesn’t rise. “That is what they tell me,” he says, his eyes steady on the interloper.

“You seem to be stirring things up a bit, son.”

“Yeah. That is the way to get me to listen to you. Call me ‘son’.”

The man’s bland expression doesn’t change. “You might want to listen. You are dealing with things that could have dangerous repercussions. Especially if you happen to step on the wrong toes with your clumsy dancing around.”

“Look. I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to come and threaten me, but I really am too busy contemplating my navel to deal with you.”

The lip quirks up with a tiny movement. “That is a shame. It would be unfortunate if your stirring caused pain to your benefactors. Especially if some, shall we say, official organs of state start looking into their rule.”

Covenant stands up. He collects his trash. “I am sure that the Queen and Viceroy can take care of themselves. They wouldn’t have hired me if they were worried. Especially with the stability they have maintained in this sector.” His eyes flash. “The ‘order’.”

The tall man is quiet for a moment. He looks over his shoulder, then focuses on Covenant’s left hand and its injured finger. “Maybe so. But for your continued good health, you might re-think your position. Someone could lose a finger.”

At that, the suit turns and walks away. Covenant looks skyward. He pulls his hand from the paper bag with the small blaster in it. _At least this issue peashooter is good for something._ He returns it to a pocket in his suit coat.

“Nice,” comes a deep voice to his left. Sen M’Faru, newly promoted Major of Peacekeepers walks up.

“Seems like this is my day for getting my ‘me’ time interrupted,” Covenant grumbles. His eyes smile, if not the rest of his face. “At least you are welcome.”

“So I see you have met one of our most famous celebrities that nobody knew about a month and a half ago.”

Covenant raises his eyebrows.

“His name is apparently Stark. He is a high-priced lawyer.” M’Faru says.

“So, did he start a Hyperspace War around the time of my birth?” Covenant asks.

“Not sure. But unlike Iaco Stark, he doesn’t seem to be motivated by ‘robbing the rich to give to the poor.’ His motto seems to be ‘have scumbag, will represent. For a lot of money.”

“Surely he can’t be representing our ex-cop.”

“Maybe. Maybe the Antols,” M’Faru says. He smiles. “You have had a good day, General. Hear you have Somar looking for a uniform that might fit.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll pay for that one soon.”

“General, can I offer you some advice?”

“Always, Major,” Covenant says.

M’Faru absently picks up a root-fry from the pile that Covenant still seems to be working on.“You have done good work today. The Suit would’ve never dirtied his hands with arresting and slamming an armed, trained PK. You showed your officers that you are there for them.” He pauses, as if unsure of what to say. “That isn’t to say that Somar is a bad sort, he just isn’t a cop. He spent a year in uniform, then was in Admin for the rest until he retired. He might’ve made a good Director, as he was hired.”

Covenant’s eyebrows raise. “Yeah, that’s right. The Director used to be a separate job from the General. The Director was a civilian position. It actually descended from some fancy title from the old times. He got some political pull and had them combined.” He looks at the surrounding buildings. A cop’s eyes. For an instant, Bryne sees what Boge will look like in another twenty years.

Covenant is silent. “I sense a ‘but,’ there, Major,” he finally says.

“Just a small one,” he says. “Ditch the suit. Before Somar combined the two jobs, the General never wore a suit.”

“I can get a uniform, I guess,” the Corellian says.

M’Faru grins at the lack of enthusiasm. “No. Do some research. The _Mishleh_ had his own uniform. Back before there was an active Director.” He rises and nods. “I have to get back to my district.” The grin takes on a slightly sardonic look. “Some snot-nose from the Square says I have to find a uniform now.”

Covenant sits for a moment. He pulls his comm out and searches for a word, hoping he gets a nearly dead language’s spelling right. He sits in silence as he reads the words on the holo.

_The One in Charge._

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka stalks from the small house on the outskirts of the settlement. She ducks into the alley as she sees a small Imperial security patrol moving through the streets in an almost desultory fashion. She watches from the shadows as the two-man watch moves past. That is one thing, she thinks. _At least I don’t have to deal with a full Stormtrooper legion here, any more. Only a few bored naval provost guards. Not even marines, really._

As she waits for the Imps to pass, she thinks of the two fruitless meetings she had attended. The first had ended with her turning around and stalking out as the idiots argued. She had learned that Calrissian had actually tripled the two hundred thousand they had given him, plus fifty thousand from the Stornani, by ‘investing’ it into smaller pockets of gas that had supposedly sprung up on one of the smaller moons, before disappearing with the whole lot, after several mysterious ‘business’ trips.

She had not learned who had actually brought Calrissian and his partners in. Most pointed the finger at Gege Merrik, but no one would say anything beyond that. Not even t’Kryze, who was unusually tight-lipped. Ahsoka stills her anger. No one would even identify the Pantoran who had introduced Calrissian. A self-proclaimed ‘military genius.’ She comes back to the present. _Guess I’ll go see Merrik to have more poodoo thrown into my face._

She turns a corner into another alley, her feet moving of her own accord. Her memories fall into place with each step, from her first time here. Of trying to keep two extremes from destroying the golden egg. She shakes her head as she wonders where Saw Gerrera is. If he has tempered his views at all. She has a feeling that he has not. Her expression does turn feral as she thinks of the opposite extreme in her last visit here.

Tommis Wren would not be troubling other worlds again with his outdated Death Watch philosophy. She knows exactly where he is. Rotting in an unmarked grave after being vivisected by two lightsabers. One wielded by her. The other by the beloved husband of Tommis’s late sister. A man who Tommis, along with a young bounty hunter, a name from her past, had kidnapped, mutilated, and nearly killed in a twisted act of revenge. Vengeance for both Tommis and Boba Fett’s perceived slights.

Her eyes tear briefly as she remembers the man she had grown with, learned with, and fought with, standing on his own, his master’s lightsaber in his hand. Shivering, clad only in his underwear, his own severed finger clutched in his hand, but standing straight and unbowed, his green eyes locked on hers with emotion, as well as his customary humor. A brighter light in the Force than he had been for months as he focused all of it on preserving his finger’s life. As he concentrated on living. Of fighting ‘with,’ not ‘for’ each other.

She wipes the tears away, remembering her mantra. _I am Ahsoka Tano. I do not cry._

As she turns and walks away, a nagging buzz, more of a tingle, ghosts over her skin at the junction of where her rear lek joins her skull. Her buzz increases to a scream in her mind. She whirls, her hand grasping her right saber. Ahsoka does something she rarely does. She drops her lightsaber, bringing her hands up to block a large curved blade.

A blade attached to a pole, swung by a very large Zabrak, his golden skin with black patterns shining in the low light. She feels the blow of the blade slicing through her gloves. _Dammit, I just got these broke in after the ones that got burned into my skin the last time I was here. At least it didn’t cut me._

She shoves back against the attacker, her Force-sense pounding him against the wall.

He bounds back up with no visible effect. She reaches out and uses her birthright to snap the pole of the glaive at the tip as he swings it. The blade hits the ground, but the pole continues and strikes her on her left montral. Unlike the Zabrak, she reels backward, the pain and disorientation forcing her to her knees. She feels blood running down her left lek, then into her eyes over her forehead.

The coppery-bronze taste brings her back to the present. The Zabrak’s yellow eyes blaze in triumph as he pulls her into a hug and squeezes. A black haze grows at the edge of her vision, to the center. She reaches down to her right leg and grasps what she finds as her left hand struggles against the attacker’s face. The horns on the side of his head cut into her hand, in the instant that she feels the pressure on her ribs vanish.

He bellows in pain as he looks at the hunting blade buried in his own ribs. He shoves her away, against the opposite wall. Her blade comes with her as he still manages to twist.

Pain cuts through her body as he completes the motion.

She feels the vibration of the glaive point as it sticks in the wall behind her. She feels more blood gush down her side, just under her upraised left arm. She fights to stay up. She still manages to land several punches on his nose. She screams as she feels an intense activation of all of her nerve endings.

Her last thought, oddly enough, is not about her impending death.

_Don’t know if I will be able to sew this vest up one more time._

~=~=~=~=~=

The Zabrak moves towards her as the other, nearly equal in size figure lowers the electrostaff. “Come on. Let’s get her out of here. Might be worth something to someone.”

“Yeah, asshole. Me.”

They look up at the broad, southern Mandalorian accent. Words punctuated by a sudden roaring, as a small attack ship swings down into their view, just above the building roofs. Yet another large figure jumps down from the ramp and opens up with an old Republic blaster carbine.

The other two figures turn to fight, but the sight of the small ship’s guns swinging around to cover them discourages both

Tarre Tredecima, once known by a number, and by a nickname, slings his blaster as the two assholes flee. He sees the ship start to follow. “No, sweetie,” he says. “Got to take care of Mouse.” He kneels beside the young woman. His eyes grow sad as he very carefully picks her up. She mumbles something in his arms, against his chest.

A name. As he hears it repeated, as the young woman’s head lolls, he sends the thoughts of his losses away. Losses including the family of the owner of that muttered name.

~=~=~=~=~=

Covenant watches through the two-way glass as the thug known as Eldin is brought into the interrogation room. Murta Locke walks in. “General,” the officer says, his mustache and beard twitching briefly in his version of a smile.

“So where did you find him?” Covenant asks.

“Medcenter near the diner. Got his booboo fixed up.” Murta’s smile fades. “He has already lawyered up.”

Covenant looks at the prisoner, his wrist in a bacta cast. “Take him to the break room. Make sure he is cuffed. Does he know who I am?”

“Nope. No one has talked to him.”

“Boge got the other one, right?” the General asks.

“Yeah. He was staggering down the street.”

“Watch for my text. Make sure the bigger one knows who nabbed him.” Murta looks at him curiously as he lifts his comm. A female voice answers. “Hey, Port. Can you come down to the University Station? Bring your frying pan.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Eldin’s eyes narrow as the dour peacekeeper takes him out of the small windowless room. He is walked down the hall into a bright airy room with the decor of institutional break rooms the universe over.

“Here. Sit,” the plod mumbles, attaching his binders to a ringbolt.

Eldin sits, a self-satisfied smile marking his rat-like features. The door to the room opens. His eyes widen as the young woman from the diner walks in. Her eyes narrow in anger at him, but she says nothing. She leans against the wall, that damned frying pan that was used on his partner in her hands. Every other moment or so, she hefts it and looks at him.

The door opens again. The young lawyer-type walks in, his hands bound in front of him. The very large peacekeeper, his eyes cold as the lights gleam on his shaven skull sits the other man down. He makes to rise. The PK backhands him across the mouth. “I said sit the fuck down.”

The woman watches dispassionately. She returns to her scrutiny of Eldin. The other man’s eyes lock on the thug. He rises as soon as the PK leaves. He walks over to the young woman. “Hey, sweet-cheeks,” he says. “Do I get anything for rescuing you?”

“Thought I rescued you, ‘sweet-cheeks’,” she replies, eying him as if some new species of bug. Her expression goes glacial. “You were just trying to get into my pants. Don’t care. Right now I am thinking very seriously of walking over to that asshole who hit me and seeing how his head handles this thing.” She smacks the pan against her hand. Eldin involuntarily jumps.

The young man turns and walks over. He stands over him, almost friendly. “Women. Can’t live with ‘em, huh?”

Eldin is about to reply when the door opens. His partner stands there in the door, two uniformed peacekeepers standing with him. “You fucking rat! You’re dead.”

Eldin starts to rise, thinks better of it. He realizes that both his binders and the young human’s are gone.

He sees the shield on the human’s belt. He starts to protest to his compatriot. The larger thug is starts towards him, but the stun cuffs are activated. The male turns and watches as the thug is dragged out.

“My name is Covenant,” the young man says. “Don’t you want to sign that form waiving your rights to an advocate? Or do you just want us to turn you out onto the streets, now?” he adds.

Eldin slumps. He looks up. As he does another slightly smaller, but older bald officer walks in. He is clad in full uniform, every crease sharp, every surface polished. He has the look of the officer who had struck Covenant. Eldin’s eyes widen as he sees the young woman set the frying pan onto the range. She pulls three eggs from the refrigerator and cracks them expertly. “You bi…”

Covenant waggles his finger in front of the muscle’s face, in rhythm with each word. “No, no, no. You don’t get to use those words about her, bud,” he says. “Besides. it is your fault for being afraid of a little girl with a pot.”

The ‘little girl’s’ eyeroll is almost as painful as the frying pan, now busily sizzling with the older officer’s over-easy eggs.


	7. On the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Imperials doing what Imperials do. A new cop stumbles towards a version of the truth.

Dav Kolan looks around the empty apartment and sighs. Everything he owns is packed into a footlocker and a couple of small bags. He nods to the service droid, then grabs his flight jacket and a smaller backpack. He turns to exit the officer’s quarters on the top floor of the Imperial Complex. As he starts to exit, he rolls his eyes as he sees several trunks waiting in the hall.

He stops as he hears his comm chime. His eyebrows rise as he sees the sigil and the encryption link. He pulls out his datapad and links his comm to the scrambling circuits.

Moff Jano Secor’s strong features pop up. Kolan unconsciously straightens, the habit of years ingrained at seeing this man. Secor grins. “Still can’t beat the squid out of you, can they?” He doesn’t have to say who ‘they’ are.

Kolan matches his expression. “And who is responsible for that, Captain Secor?” he asks.

Secor nods approvingly. He grows serious. “I am delaying your transfer to Corellia. Don’t ask me how I am doing it. The Ubiqtorate has asked me to look into your new boss and her dealings on Alderaan. The uh, _parties_ involved probably know who I am asking.”

_Meaning Yularen and Isard_ , Dav thinks, but doesn’t say. “You’re asking a lot, sir. She is my boss,” he says.

“I know, Trigger. But there is a distinct possibility that she isn’t as separated from the family business as she claims.” He softens. “Look, Dav. I know your sense of honor. It is that honor that I am counting on to do a thorough investigation.”

_Yeah. Not to mention what I owe you, Moff. Makes it convenient to call on me_. “What is your evidence, Moff? I may be loyal to you, and owe you a great deal, but I want to make sure that I am not getting stuck in the midst of a power struggle,” he says.

Secor is silent. Kolan can see the anger playing across his features. “We have reason to believe that she might be in contact with Maliky.”

_Or is she getting close to you and your power?_ Dav closes his eyes. Maliky. A mysterious slaver and spice-lord. One that is rumored to have many connections with power in the galaxy. He slumps. “Very well, Moff,” he says formally. “I will look into it. I’ll make some discreet inquiries.”

Secor’s eyes narrow at the lack of enthusiasm. He shakes his head. “Very well. Colonel Yularen has approved your request for two ten-days’ leave.” He clicks off the comm before Dav can respond.

Kolan thinks of burned bridges. Of his loyalty and regard being used to combat a threat to power.

~=~=~=~=~=

The man once known as Taliesin Croft sits in a small diner, sipping his caf. He is earlier than usual, the breakfast rush is still on. He marvels at Meglann’s speed and energy as she rushes from one end to the next, wherever she is needed to fill in the gaps of her much more inexperienced waitress, a woman a little older than Meglann, but slow and somewhat clumsy.

At least she hasn’t dropped anything yet, an improvement over a few days ago. No one seems to be complaining. In spite of the confused looks given by the waitress, her good humor, and that of the owner, smooths over any miscues. That and the fact that the food comes out hot and fast. He shakes his head with a grin. _Can’t just be Gort back there. Unless there has been a skill transplant_. Covenant smiles as he thinks of the last week, but the expression fades as he thinks of the little progress they had made on Meglann’s case. He sees her pause and look at him, smiling wistfully.

They had seen little of each over the past week, as he had learned that he was the Peacekeeper-General for the whole planet, not just one district. Most of his nights had been spent in station dormitories, snatching a few hours of sleep. After those hours, it was up and on to the next demonstration of the complexity of his new job.

The doorbell jingles on its twisted axis, giving it a forlorn sound. The sun is momentarily blocked in the airy diner as a very large male walks in and heads to the back booth where Covenant sits.

Covenant takes in the officer’s change in wardrobe. Instead of the tailored uniform tunic and tan trousers, Boge M’Faru wears a pair of sweats and a large exercise shirt that proclaims his loyalty to the Aldera Annihilators, in very bright, loud colors. _Well, I did say something that doesn’t scream ‘cop’_. A large shirt that even now strains against the thick, muscled, arms. A small pouch, worn around his thick waist, completes the ensemble. Covenant can only hope that the pouch contains something more deadly than protein bars and water packs.

Covenant watches as M’Faru observes his own transformation. Instead of the gray business suit with its long frock-style coat, Covenant wears a white dress undertunic, open at the collar and tucked into the standard, generic tan cargo pants of a Peacekeeper, with thick-soled black work boots. A hip-length black leather jacket sits in the seat next to him, the rank plaque displayed on the chest. His own gunbelt, with its teeth inset, decorates his hips.

Boge’s eyes track up to the General’s face. He smirks. Covenant self-consciously touches his face. The salt-and-pepper beard of yesterday has been replaced by a drooping mustache that decorates his upper lip, falling past his lips to the bottom of his chin. “Not bad, _Mishleh_ ,” M’Faru says. He points to the facial hair. “Maybe you went a bit far with the cop-stache,” he finishes.

“Thanks. But I am not taking up smoking three packs of nasty-ass cigarettes a day like the last true one did.”

“I guess we’ll let that pass. Considering I was maybe twelve or so when we had a different one.”

He moves his bulk into the booth. Covenant rolls his eyes and moves the table back to accommodate him. “So. Darga Tine. What do you know about him?” Covenant asks.

“Not much. We didn’t move in the same circles. His circles were always a bit, uh, crooked.”

“Then why didn’t your father do something about it?” the _Mishleh_ asks. “He was an Inspector right? Under Sen’s command?”

M’Faru’s eyes flash. “Because he was the darling of the Square. Our spineless DC did whatever Somar said. Plus, Darga was smooth. Had a lot of associations with the local scumbags, but he registered them as informants. So in reality, the sovereign government of Alderaan was subsidizing a good number of ‘bad people’, as the Palace might call them.” A mug of caf appears in front of Boge. The new waitress looks at him with an unfathomable expression. Not quite contempt, but not quite adoration either. Covenant raises his eyebrow, but says nothing. Boge takes a sip and quirks one side of his mouth up.

“So my taxes are paying for my Peacekeeper-General and his minions to sit here and eat my breakfasts and drink my caf?” says a bright voice, as she plops a plate of food in front of the General.

Covenant sees that Boge is watching intently; probably notices the slight lingering touch on Covenant’s hand, and files it away. Covenant’s eyes tell him he should empty the file.

The tall young woman, with a mass of bronze curls pulled into a messy ponytail holds out her hand. “I’m Meglann. I apparently feed Her Majesty’s Peacekeeping forces.”

Boge’s hand swallows it. “Pleased to meet you, Meglann, I’m Boge….”

“Boge M’Faru,” she finishes. “Run-blocker for the University. Still holds the Alderaan Record for most points scored by any of your position. I was waiting for the Annihilators to draft you.”

She rolls her eyes at Covenant’s bemused expression. “What? Did you think that I just sit at home waiting for beautiful huntresses and semi-handsome Corellians to knock down my door? I enjoy smashball.”

“I waited on them to call, too,” Boge says, “but they never did.”

Covenant looks at him, his mouth quirked. “Step slow?”

“Step and a half. Plus the Republic called. Needed a gunnery officer more than they needed a run-blocker.”

“How long?” Covenant asks.

“About a year before the Republic fell. Had a year left on my commitment. Served the glorious Empire for a year. I had to commit to doing something of service before they released me. Volunteered for the family business.”

He grins, taking a sip of his caf. “Think they were well shot of me. I wasn’t exactly a poster-child for obedience.”

“Imagine that.”

Boge looks at Meglann. “How come he gets food brought to him without asking?”

“He taught me how to cook that. Plus, I don’t know what you want.” she says, her hands on her hips.

Boge takes a piece of bacon off of Covenant’s plate, just missing his fingers being speared by the fork. “This looks good. You can hold that white mess on there.”

Meglann smirks at Covenant’s expression. “But the gravy’s the best part,” she says in a credible imitation of his drawl. She dodges the rolled-up napkin thrown at her.

“Hey, sweetie, when you bring his food, take a minute,” Covenant says. “Want to ask you some questions about your problems.”

“Okay, General,” she says. She impulsively reaches down and kisses him on his temple. She runs her hand over the facial growth, rolling her eyes slightly.

Boge’s eyebrows raise as she walks away. “How come I don’t get one of those? Rank-hath-its privileges?”

“What are you whining about? She probably has your old college holoposter in her bedroom,” comes the reply. Within minutes, another plate of food appears in front of the Peacekeeper.

Meglann sets her caf on the table and moves into the booth, next to M’Faru. She shifts her hips and moves him over.

“So what do you want to know, Bryne?” she asks.

“When did the harassment start, Meglann?” he immediately asks.

Meglann takes a sip of her caf, is quiet. Her hand goes to the fading bruise under her eye. “About two months ago,” she says. Eldin comes in with your tiny friend and says it would be in my best interests to invest in their insurance scheme.”

Bryne takes a bite of his eggs. He grins as he watches Boge inhale his food. “How much?” he asks.

“Couple of thousand per month.” She looks down. “I had just started making a bit more than breaking even. I was actually going to be able to pay my ‘partner,’ some dividends.”

Bryne smiles and touches her hand. “I don’t think she would’ve done more with it than just put it back into your dream, babe,” he says quietly. A look passes between the two, as they speak of the ‘partner.’ Bryne doesn’t see Boge smile as he looks away from them both. “Anything else happen around that time?”

She grins. “Yeah. I had money to hire another waitress and a cook.” She grins. “Mixed blessings. The cook has made Gort step it up. He is really good, not just good, but fast as well. I can barely remember his name, he is so quiet. He is Chalactan, I think. His name is Fazikton Dep.”

“What about the waitress?”

The young woman grins. “You’ve seen her handiwork when you first came in,” she says. “She is a hard worker and means well, but she is slow and clumsy.” She takes a sip and smiles. “She is cheerful and we work well together. Maybe I can smooth off her rough edges. Especially since she just got out of the service.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“She was a stormtrooper. Maybe one of those regular ones in the Navy.”

“What is her full name?”

“Tika Tasera. She is a native.”

Both she and Boge can see his mind turning. “Look into them. I need to know everything,” he says to Boge. After a moment, the Peacekeeper nods.

“Anything else?”

“Little things. Shipments disrupted. Food spoiled.” She grits her teeth. “A food poisoning. My insurance premiums went up. I could’ve put it down to Gort,” he smiles at this, “but something was fishy. I watched Gort fix the meal. It was something even he couldn’t screw up.”

“They kept coming back. It was only the day before you came in that Eldin had his bruiser hit me.”

“What about the cop that arrested me?”

“He was always here. Every morning. He would sit in the booth at the front and drink ice water. Never would purchase anything.” She stops, as if gathering herself.

He places his hands on hers. “Look, Meglann. I will do what I can to protect your dream. I told our huntress that I would.”

She nods. “Have you heard from her?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not since we talked when you were…” He stops, looking at Boge.

Boge gives an expression of realization. Realization that he might just be intruding. Not that it makes him make a move to leave. His eyes lock on Meglann’s changed expression.

Her eyes widen as the door opens and there is an audible gasp in the diner.

Covenant’s eyes narrow. Boge turns around, as two Imperial fleet troopers walk in. “Everyone out. Now,” the first one yells. No one moves. The two draw their weapons. “Out.” A much smaller figure dressed in an Imperial service uniform walks in. Boge smiles as the Peacekeeper-General of Alderaan’s eyes roll.

Raisa Horan, the new ISB station chief for the Alderaan sector walks in, her dark eyes looking at the crowd with contempt. Her eyes lock on the party in the rear.

The patrons rise hastily. To their credit, all drop credits on the table as they leave. Covenant notices Boge typing on his comm.

“This establishment is closed, pending an investigation,” she says, her voice cold. The temperature in the room drops even further as her eyes meet Covenant’s. He smiles his most charming smile.

Meglann gets up. “On whose authority? For what?” she asks.

“ISB. Health and safety check.”

Covenant pulls Meglann back down. “Health and Safety is not in your purview, Raisa, dear. This is a local matter,” he says, as pleasantly as he can.

“Shut up, scum, or we will take you into custody.” Her eyes narrow. “You don’t have Kolan looking after you, now, Covenant. I am not as taken with your ass as he was.”

Covenant looks at Meglann. “You know that coming to your establishment and getting called names does nothing for my self-esteem,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but I like your ass, though, General.”

Boge shakes his head. “I’ve seen better,” he says.

The three of them feel the impatient huff from the ISB Agent.

The door opens again as Boge rises.


	8. The Queen’s Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ISB Resident Agent learns not to disturb the Queen’s Breakfast.
> 
> A Mandalorian learns that he cannot fly.

_A beautiful little girl toddles unsteadily across her vision, her dark eyes full of joy and laughter as she takes a stuffed bantha made from old socks and spare bits of wool from her hands. Chubby arms reach out for her, entreating her to pull her up._

_Another pair of eyes, older, and lighter, with the firelight of madness, under stringy gray hair, says something to her, in a sharp, but controlled voice. She has a sensation of anger and fear, of paranoia._

_There is another figure in the background. The figure of an adult female, heavily robed, her bronze skin clear as she smiles at her, speaking in a soft voice. A voice that at one time had nothing but contempt for her. A voice that now represents growth. There is an air of familiarity to all of them. That she should know all of them._

_Light flashes as the images roll together in an ever-increasing reel of playback. There are flashes of lightsaber clashes, of blaster fire. Of a pair of staring dark eyes against a backdrop of blood. She cannot see whose._

_A flash of fire and a scream and it plays again_

Ahsoka Tano starts awake. She feels a cooling cloth moving over her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes lock on those of a small girl. Bigger now, since she had last seen her. She shakes her head as the remnants of the dream linger in her mind. She takes a deeper look into the little girl’s eyes. _Similar, but more serious than those in her mind._

She smiles at the fact that one of the eyes looking down at her now is royal blue while the other is the dark honey-amber of her father. She smiles and touches the cheek of the girl. “Hey, Talle,” she whispers, sounding the two syllables. A bright smile is her reward, a reward that lightens the solemnity of those eyes. She sits up, wincing at the pull in her side and the sharp pains in her head. She examines her surroundings. She is lying on a narrow pallet, the blanket pulled up around her chest. Her eyebrow markings rise, as she sees her top, neatly folded at the foot of the bed, along with her weapons belt and sabers. Her leather jacket hangs from a hook on the bulkhead. Her eyes track around the cabin, at first missing the large figure sitting in a chair, then tracking back.

A face from her past, one that she only suspected was associated with the little girl, in the layered secrecy of her network, stares at her, his eyes filled with emotion. A large, slightly different example of a face as dear to her and as familiar to her as her own. The face of a man who had fought with and cared for her hunt-brother in the hell of the last war.

She struggles to find words as they stare at each other. She turns her feet to the deck, then thinks better of it. Ahsoka finds words and refuge where she usually does.

“So you’re the one who took my shirt off. Should’ve known you wanted to look at my chest.”

The deep, familiar voice cuts through her memories. “That’s alright. Seen’em before. Won’t lose sleep over them.” He looks away. “Last time I glimpsed them, I was plunging a syringe in between them to keep your heart going.” 

Both of them close their eyes at the memory. As she does, the little girl pulls her vest to her and helps her don it. As Ahsoka closes it, she smiles at the tight stitches to the cut on the garment. 

A dry, young voice cuts through her consciousness. “Don’t let him get morbid. For one thing, I’m the one who dressed your boo-boo. He was too busy fretting about you,” Talle says.

Ahsoka rises from the bunk. It only takes a moment for the world to stop spinning. She puts her hand to her montral, feels the binding and bacta pad over it. Two steps and she is engulfed in a pair of large arms. They rock together, her face against his chest. 

“I’ll say it again, just like I said it the last time I saw you in person,” he whispers. “Sure have grown, Mouse.”

She cannot reply, lost in the past. The past of the Coruscant undercity, just after her departure from the Order. After several moments, she moves her head back, looking into his eyes. She looks down. “He’s alive, Drop. Tal is alive.”

He looks away. “I know. I’ve known for over a year and a half.” Her face crumples for a moment, but the expression of despair flows away. She returns her face to his chest.

A little girl, a product of an experiment only a bit more diabolical than the one that created her father, watches them both. Ahsoka sees a smile just as she turns back to Drop’s chest. She wonders what the girl thinks about. 

Ahsoka looks down at a tug on her arm, as she realized the girl has moved closer. Talle holds up her trousers. Drop suddenly blushes as she sees that the warrior is standing in his arms in her repaired top and a pair of underwear. Ahsoka and Talle share a Smirk as he beats a hasty retreat to the cockpit. 

As she finishes buttoning her trousers, the little girl hands her the two lightsabers. As her hands touch the girl’s she sits down heavily, as a sensation comes over her, through the arcane energy field.

She looks away. The little girl touches her shoulder, her multicolored eyes looking at her with concern. Ahsoka smiles and kisses her on the cheek. “I’m okay, sweetie. Let’s go find your dad. See what mess he has gotten himself into.” Talle seizes her and hugs her close. Ahsoka takes a moment to breathe in her little girl-smell, leavened with engine grease and blaster ozone. _Not a bad combination_ , she thinks to herself.

She gets up and walks out the door and down the ramp of the tri-winged gunship. She kneels down and lets Talle climb on her back. Her runs with Leia over the mountains of Alderaan tug at her memory and her heart. “This is the secret part, love,” she says. 

She leaps.

As she comes down on top of one of the buildings, she feels the tiny grin against her rear lek as she picks up speed. Three buildings later, she hears loud voices, as well as feels Talle tense on her back. With one swift movement, she lowers Talle to the roof of the building, and leaps to the next. She ignores the squeak of outrage from the young fighter.

“…come on, you idiot. Quit bullshitting me. I am tired of it. Tell me how you met the assholes that swindled you.” 

Ahsoka Smirks as she slows to a walk. “Yeah. I’d be interested in hearing that as well,” she says dryly. 

Gege Merrik watches with narrowed eyes. “I don’t rightly care what an offworlder wants to hear,” he says. He lips twist in a sneer. “Especially a tailhead.”

She can see Drop’s anger rise, but he tamps it down as Ahsoka calms. 

“Oh, really, Merrik?” she says quietly. “That is where you are going?”

His eyes flash about one half-second before he draws his blaster. With an offhand, almost disinterested movement, the blaster flies into her hand. She throws it from the roof. He draws a second blaster.

It flies apart from the deflected bolt into the weapon. Merrik screams briefly, grabbing his singed hand. Drop covers the ground between them and snatches the Mandalorian up by his throat and yanks him to the edge of the building.Merrik begins to paw and struggle at the iron grip, the stridor of his lungs trying to draw air in growing, as Drop holds him over the ledge. “So, Merrik,” Ahsoka says, in a conversational tone. “Who told you about Calrissian? How did you know him?”

“No! He’ll kill me!”

Ahsoka gestures to Drop. The large clone tosses his quarry up and drops him head first, catching him by the ankle at the last second.

“Gege,” Ahsoka says, inspecting her nails. “My patience is wearing thin. Drop is strong, but even he could slip. He may not be able to catch you, next time.”

Merrik struggles to reach out to the ledge. “Ask your buddy t’Kryze, you Togruta bitch,” he manages.

Drop releases Merrik. There is a receding scream again.

Drop looks at her innocently. “Oh, was I supposed to catch him this time, too?”

~=~=~=~=~=

Leeza Antol, newly appointed interim Director of the Imperial Security Bureau, stares at the tableau in front of her, as she follows two of her personal guard into the small establishment. 

Two Imperial fleet troopers lie prone on the floor of the diner, surrounded by several very large Alderaani Peacekeepers. The troopers’ hands are bound and there appears to be a great deal of bruising on and about their faces.

Her dark eyes flash as she surveys the empty diner. Her gaze falls on three individuals seated at a small booth in the rear. The largest of them is putting the finishing touches on the demolition of a large plate of food. A young woman sits next to him, her apron identifying her as an employee of the diner. She grins at something the third member says.

It is this third member that draws Leeza’s attention, a man of about the Director’s age. She notices that his green eyes are locked on hers. She catches herself self-consciously looking down at her uniform, checking to see if everything is in place. She shakes her head, locking her own eyes on the man.

A crooked grin spreads over his regular features. He does not rise, but moves back in his chair, continuing his frank appraisal. In spite of herself, Leeza returns his look, a slow smile spreading over her face. 

She ignores the eyeroll of the young woman next to him. 

Leeza’s eyes narrow at the Imperial officer seated on the other side of him, at her cuffed hands behind her back. “What is the meaning of this? Why are my officer and troopers in custody?” she asks. 

The green eyes do not shift, but the grin grows on the face of the appraiser. “Didn’t know they were yours,” he says. 

“Release them, at once,” she says. 

The grin takes on a hard quality. “Don’t know if I’ll do that,” he says. “Not unless they apologize for disrupting this young woman’s business.”

“On what grounds have you accosted them?” she says, her anger growing.

He stands up. Her eyes widen at his weapons belt. “Pissing off the local authorities.” 

“That’s not a lawful reason,” she sputters. 

“It is when they come in on a Core world—a settled, Core world—and disrupt commerce without a reason. And don’t start with health and safety. This place has better health and safety ratings than most Imperial naval vessels. Plus, there are no violations of the Imperial Code, here. If there was, the nearest Imperial magistrate needed to be contacted.”

“We couldn’t find one,” the ISB agent says. 

“You didn’t try hard enough, Raisa, dear,” he says. “I’m the nearest Imperial magistrate,” he says. 

Raisa Horan sneers at him. “You? Who the hell would make you a magistrate?” she starts.

“I would,” comes a dry voice at the entrance. The ‘magistrate,’ his bruiser, and the young woman rise if they are still seated, and bow. Leeza’s eyebrows raise at the obvious respect from the heretofore sarcastic young man. 

She slowly turns and looks at the small, regal woman standing in the door, surrounded by guards. The dark eyes lock with her own. After a moment of a contest of wills, Leeza Antol blinks. She drops her head in a quick nod. “Your Majesty, I am Leeza Antol, Minister and Director of Imperial Security. I….”

“I’m aware of who you are, Director Antol,” she says dryly. Leeza takes a deep breath, tries not to let her irritation show at the interruption. “I would like to know why my breakfast is being disrupted.”

Leeza starts to speak, but thinks better of it. She changes her direction. “I believe that my agents were just leaving,” she says. “This has been a misunderstanding. My officers were merely checking on an establishment that has had issues with criminals harassing Imperial citizens.” She stares at Horan. “Isn’t that right, Agent Horan?” she says, pointedly. After a brief moment the agent nods, her eyes staring daggers at the ‘magistrate.’ 

He waits until both the Director and Queen’s backs are turned, then sticks his tongue out at the ISB agent.

“Yes, Director. I do appreciate that. This is one of my favorite places in Aldera. I would hate to see anything happen to it.” She walks over and takes Meglann’s hands in her own, smiling gently at the young woman. “Especially since a vote of confidence for the interim Minister of Security in the Senate could build some powerful new connections for you.”

Leeza smiles at the Queen, her expression calculating. “Yes, it would, Your Majesty,” she says. She turns to the man now wearing his coat with the General’s insignia on it. She holds out her arm. After a moment, he takes it. “I look forward to working with you, General. You have quite the mess of criminals to clean up. Would you walk with me for a few moments, before I head to my next appointment?” She turns to the ISB agent, jerks her head. Horan and the troopers make an exit, their eyes locked on the Peacekeepers.

Breha smirks at Meglann’s expression as the Director places her hand on Covenant’s arm on the way out of the diner. “Don’t worry, Meglann dear. I’ll pay for the cost of a fumigation. You can tell our mutual acquaintance so, as well.” She walks in and sits down. Meglann sits next to her. Breha draws the young woman’s head to her shoulder. “I know, sweetie. He will watch out for your dream.” She reaches over and kisses her on her forehead. “As well as ours,” she whispers, half to herself.


	9. Threats and Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen is not amused. Neither is Fulcrum or certain pirate.

Covenant turns to Antol as they move into the street. His shoulder blades tense at the Deathtrooper lurking behind him, his rifle carried at the low ready. He hears bursts of communication between the trooper and the one walking in front. He turns his head and looks at Antol. His eyes narrow as he sees the resemblance between Leeza and others of her family. Various members that he and his family have fought with over the last few years. Conflict usually resulting in grievous bodily injury to the Antol in question. “So,” he says. “How’s the food in your family restaurant? Still shitty?”

“Ah, yes. The famous Covenant wit. I hadn’t been exposed to it yet, but I have read Agents Kolan’s and Horan’s reports. All of them,” she finishes with a smirk. He looks into her dark eyes, the hint of sarcasm and Imperial-ness staring back at him. Her dark eyes track down his body. “So tell me, General. What do you think their Majesties would think if they knew of your — _connections_ with Agent Kolan? What would your little diner-owner friend in there think?” 

He smiles. “They would probably say it was none of their goddamned business. Just as what Meglann is to me is none of yours.” 

She is silent for a moment. Her hand touches his left one, covered in the glove. Her first two fingers stroke softly over the injured ring finger. “I know that you’ve heard about the rest of my family and their unfortunate accidents.”

“Yeah. You’d think that they could handle knives better,” he says dryly. 

She smiles. “You’d think. But, it goes to show you that people who thought that they were on top of the world could be brought down by their own hubris.” Her eyes, which had shown humor and interest in their appraisal, go dark and expressionless for her next words. “Even Corellian nobility who stick their noses in places they shouldn’t, for other people who are not as appreciative as some might be.” Her dark eyes lock on him. “This includes Alderaani royalty on their own planet.”

She takes his hand in hers. Her thumb rubs suggestively on his palm as light returns to her eyes. She dips her head. “Your Eminence,” she says, a slight smile on her face. As she turns to walk to her speeder, the two Deathtroopers stare at him. One brushes hard against him as they follow her. 

Covenant’s eyes are troubled as he turns and walks back into the diner.

Another observer, a large human male in a trademark expensive suit watches him walk away. He turns to get a better glimpse into the diner. He smiles as he moves back into the shadows. He can wait for the royals and the cops to leave, before moving in. He checks the knife in his belt. His bosses had said to make the diner owner’s death messy.

He hears a noise from behind him. He is only able to move slightly before the bite of a thin metal wire bites into his throat. 

Dav Kolan watches the thug convulse dispassionately, as he waits for him to die. As he stares at the dead man, he withdraws the garrote and winds it back up. He reaches down to lift the killer by his lapels. He clinches his teeth at dark thoughts. Dark thoughts of being used in a Imperial power struggle. As he starts to drag the killer away, he doesn’t see the woman on the rooftop. A diminutive, but powerful young woman with cold dark eyes, watching him through the scope of an EE-11 blaster carbine.

Cantos Lardai smiles.

~=~=~=~=~=

Gege Merrik screams as he plummets to the ground from the rooftop. The scream is cut off as his fall comes to an abrupt halt. His eyes widen as he tries to move. The plummet begins again, but terminates in a soft solid/liquid substance. In a large trash pile. A soft sound near him seizes his attention. He looks up at the Togruta woman, her face still concealed, but her blue eyes cutting into him. “So,” she says in a soft voice. “Would you like to go back up and try this again?”

The large clone curses as he climbs down the ladder. Gege can hear the Smirk in the woman’s voice. “I can do this all day and all night. Drop, on the other hand, isn’t getting any younger. I don’t think he can climb back up too many times.”

Her eyes smile at the Mando one-fingered gesture. She blows the trooper a kiss. Her eyes harden as the Merrik tries to scramble from the trashpile. 

“I’m not telling you anything, you…” He stops as he sees the giant reach down for his throat. He sees the raised eyebrow marking above the concealment. He looks down. “He’ll kill me,” he whispers. 

“Well, if you don’t tell us, we might kill you,” Ahsoka says darkly. “Who’ll kill you?”

“The Pantoran. The one that your buddy t’Kryze knows.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Covenant walks back into the diner. He grins as he watches the Queen complete her embrace of Meglann. The Queen’s eyes narrow, as does Meglann’s as their eyes fall on him. His eyebrows raise as they look at him. He looks at Boge, who shrugs one shoulder. “So, did you get her number?” Breha asks. 

“Don’t think I need it, your Majesty,” he says. “She just took the time to threaten me and all who I love,” he says. 

Breha nods softly. She touches his face as he walks up to them. “I can tell that you’re shaking in your boots, Bryne,” she says. 

“Yeah. But it would make my life easier if the Royal family, who she is trying to connect to the crime surge, would go to Corellia and get out of my hair,” he says. He looks at Meglann. “Especially if they’d take a certain diner-owner with them.”

He can see the thunder rising in both women’s expression. Gregar Typho looks sympathetically at him. He nods slightly. 

Breha starts to say something, but a surprising ally comes to his aid. “I think that you should go, your Majesty,” Meglann says. “I’ve been dealing with this for a couple of months. I don’t want you drawn in because of me,” she says. 

The Queen’s eyes soften. “It won’t be because of you, Meglann, dear,” Breha says. “We’ll do what we need to keep you and all of our citizens safe.”

“I think that Dani could use your help, Majesty,” Bryne says. “She could use your advice in her new responsibilities.” 

Breha stares at him for a moment. “Good try, Bryne,” she says. She nods at Meglann and heads to the door. 

“Welcome to my world, Bryne,” Typho says. “I’ll work on them. Bail’s about to go to Coruscant for the Senate session. He would feel better if they were offworld. I’ll talk to Nola.” The two men shake hands.

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder. He turns and draws Meglann into his arms. “Thank you,” he whispers. “But I wish you would go with them.”

She reaches up and kisses him. “Can’t. A certain huntress that we both wish was here hasn’t run from anything in her life. I’m not going to, either.” Her eyes grow sad. “For once in my life.”

He closes his eyes as they tighten their embrace.

Boge M’Faru watches as thoughts of someone else play over both of their faces.

~=~=~=~=~=

The ‘someone else’ in question walks into the hold of the small ship, her blue eyes troubled at what Idiot _Aurek_ had finally told them. Her face lightens as she sees Talle, her mouth set in concentration as she vanquishes archaic monsters right and left on her datapad. Ahsoka watches intently as she gauges the reactions of the tiny warrior on the game. She breathes in as she sees the almost preternatural reaction times. The anticipation of the next move by the creatures. On a whim, she reaches out with the Force to the small girl.

Ahsoka only finds the girl’s bright light in the Force of All Things. No extra Force sensitivity. With a crow of triumph the girl sets the datapad down. She realize Ahsoka is watching her. She looks away, as if she had shown something she was not supposed to. 

Ahsoka walks over and places a kiss on the top of the dark hair.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I used to play that game, too.” Talle gives a small smile. “Talle, babe, could I ask you something?” Talle looks at her. Ahsoka smiles at the ‘Sergeant-Major’ look, in miniature. After a moment, the girl nods, the look still present, but tempered a tiny bit.. 

“Do you remember your Mom, sweetie?”

Talle looks away. “I’m not supposed to talk about her,” she says quietly. Her eyes tear. 

Ahsoka nods and reaches down to kiss the tears away. “It’s okay. I’m sorry,” the ex-Jedi says. 

Ahsoka turns. Drop is watching them, an unfathomable look on his face. He turns and walks out. After a moment, Ahsoka gets up and follows him. 

She catches up with him near the edge of the landing field. He stops, takes a deep breath and turns. Her heart sinks as she sees his stricken face. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, for a second time. She reaches up and places her hands on the side of his face. She touches his lips with hers, gently. 

He shakes his head. “It’s okay, Mouse. It’s just that I can’t bring myself to think about someday having to tell Talle that she is dead.”

Ahsoka nods, her gaze on his. “What happened, Drop?” she asks. 

“She made me take Talle from the Temple. She was preparing to help defend the Temple. I wished that I had pushed harder for her to come with us. That asshole Showim wasn’t around to help me with Talle, so I couldn’t go back. Especially after I dropped the tunnel on Tang and some of the others.”

Her eyes tear at the matter-of-fact description of the killing of some of his former unit-mates. Memories that she had of her own take the place of the recitation. She lays her cheek against his shoulder.

Two survivors. He pulls back and looks at her. He touches her cheek. “I am glad that you at least found Croft,” he says. “I know that there are so many others lost.” 

She smiles gently. “For you, too, big guy,” she says. They both look to the horizon, are quiet.

He smirks, to break the oppressive sadness. “If you ever want to not ‘settle’ for Croft, you know who to call,” he says, the laughter bright in his voice. He tries not to rub where she punches him in his chest. 

“Yeah. Lassa,” she says, her own Smirk powerful over her features. She places her forehead against his chest where she struck.

Unknown to both of them, a tiny figure watches them as they laugh. As they remember those ‘marching far away,’ and those only missing. Talle sees the troubled look in the young woman’s eyes, as if she is trying to remember something just out of reach.

~=~=~=~=~=

Lassa Rhayme lets the steaming water batter her from all sides as she leans against the wall, her eyes closed. Ahsoka’s words reverberate in her mind.

 _A Pantoran is involved with Calrissian._

In her heart, she knows who the Pantoran is.

A man whose shadow she has been trying to escape since she left home. Her mind plays back to the last time she had seen Lando. She feels the sensation of a pair of lips on her neck as the memories come roaring back. 

“Got someone I want you to meet, dear,” says the young, smooth voice in her ear. She smiles and purrs contentedly as Calrissian’s teeth lances her earlobe. In the weeks that they had been together, he had grown a bit more skilled at this.

“Oh yeah?” she says, her mind on only half of what the new cook is saying.

”Yeah,” he replies. “An old mentor of mine. He has some ideas on how we can make some serious money.” He gasps as her hand ghosts down over his chest. He reaches over to the panel beside the bed and thumbs the remote door release. “He is just outside.” She comes alert. “Wait, what are you…?”

“Hello, my dear,” comes a, deep, familiar, accented voice. A voice from the past. “I see my boy has wormed his way into your good graces.” Her eyes widen at his next words. “You do realize he is only seventeen or so, right?” Her eyes widen in shock, an instant before they narrow in fury. She bellows as she reaches for the night-table. Her hand closes on the grip of her new backup blaster. Her A-180 is just out of reach.

Something she hasn’t had to grab in years in her own bed. Since an ex-Sith and a Jedi decided to have a naked (at least on the Jedi’s part) lightsaber battle in the bedroom. A duel that left scars on the bulkhead that the paint barely conceals.

Nothing conceals the scars on her heart.

She hears the young man struggling to get out of her bed. The Pantoran in question is holding his hands up as he turns.

The sound of blasterfire reverberates in the cabin.

As she falls from her memories, Lassa Rhayme brings her head from underneath the water. She curses as she slides down the wall. The water continues to cascade over her, as if a memory itself.


	10. Ashes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of Mandalore.

Ahsoka yelps as her head strikes the datapad. She grimaces, rubbing her forehead. She had been reading every bit of literature that she could on Tibanna gas and financial matters. She looks at the pad. She grins ruefully as she see how far she got in the scintillating literature.

 _Two pages._ She picks up her caf cup and drains it, making another face at the coldness. She puts it down and leans back in the chair.

Drop, _no, Tarre_ , walks in. “Got some news on our girl, Mouse,” he says in an easy voice.

“Yeah? Give me some good news, Dropster,” she replies tiredly.

He looks at her curiously. He walks over. “What’s wrong, Ahsoka?” he asks, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Nothing, big guy. Just trying to make sense of everything.”

He touches her cheek. “You don’t have to take everything on your shoulders, little one,” he says quietly. “I know you’re strong, but I can help you.”

“Kinda do, big guy. And, as far as you go, I think Jedi have placed too much on the _Vode,”  
_ she says. The raw sadness in her voice cuts through him.

He shakes his head and places his platter-sized hand on her wing marking. “Bullshit, sweetie,” he says. “As you keep telling me, you’re not a Jedi. I certainly ain’t a trooper of the Grand Army of the Republic, anymore. Just a father trying to make his way in the universe. How about we make our own way, now and accept help when it is given?” He grins. “That lump that seems to make you all dewy-eyed and dewy-thigh’d these days would certainly agree with me,” he says as he dodges the caf cup.

“Yeah, at least where everybody else is concerned,” she says with a grin. “He’d take it all on himself.”

“Damned stubborn not-a-Jedi,” Drop says.

She reaches up and kisses his cheek. “Give me your news, Sergeant-Major,” she says.

“A contact of mine told me that Jan t’Kryze ain’t actually a Kryze,” he says immediately. “She’s an escaped prisoner. A small-timer from Sundari Prison. Managed to slip away a few years ago.”

He stops as Ahsoka feels herself go pale and her eyes close.

When she opens them, Drop can see the march of memory flowing through those windows - windows that had been the size of dinner plates when he first met her. He is about to say something when she turns without a word and walks down the ramp. He follows her to the top of the ramp and watches as she strides towards the edge of the landing field. He is about to follow, when he notices that she doesn’t stop at the edge. He realizes that she is headed to the settlement.

In the direction of the small house of a not-Kryze. He smiles. _Maybe I should just let her have her head. To see where it takes her_. His smile turns into a Tano-level Smirk. _Let’s see if Madame Mando can fly_.

But Drop is wrong. Ahsoka leaps to the top of another building as she tries to make sense of her memories.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka Tano, Provisional General of the 332nd Legion stands on the military crest of a hill overlooking her encampment. The stench of the fires of Mandalore burns into her sensitive nostrils.

The ashes in her mouth are not just the product of the fires. Rex walks up to her and salutes, his blue-trimmed armor a contrast to the other members of the 332nd with the orange helmets and white markings. “There was definitely someone up here, General,” he says in his dry voice. “Saw the tracks in the dirt. Looked like someone pretty heavy.”

She nods. “I guess the tracks would be,” she says.

Rex’s eyes narrow at her distant, distracted look. The other troopers look on, their eyes and ears tuned to her every word. “So, do you think it was Half-Ass?” he asks. For a moment, she Smirks at the appellation that some of the troopers had given Maul. The expression fades with the memory of the sensations of intense pain and loss in the Force from the previous night. She closes her eyes, thinking of what war does to them all. She can already feel it in herself. She nods at Rex. “I know it won’t do any good, but post extra guards. He can get in any time he wants to. He demonstrated that last night. He could’ve killed all of us while we slept.”

Rex turns to the other troopers, gives a slight jerk of his head. They suddenly find something else to do. Ahsoka smiles gently at the markings on their helmets. Her own markings, but very similar to the ones that had marked the earlier incarnation of this battalion, when it was the command of another, older huntress, as well as her human padawan-turned-knight, later. A human General increasingly in her thoughts since a night several months ago. She starts to turn away.

She shakes the dark thoughts away. She turns to back him, her eyes clear. “I know it won’t. It won’t do any good until I face him.” Her eyes harden. “Until one of us is dead.”

She touches her forehead at his salute and turns away.

~=~=~=~=~=

Rex takes his helmet off, his lips pursed as he watches her. _Not if I can help it, my girl_ , he thinks, _I’ll be dead long before you come close_. He purses his lips. He grins as he sees a change come over her. Rex watches her walk away. Not the distracted walk of earlier, but the determined walk that he has seen for years. Walking next to her Master, her hands clasped behind her back. He knows that the distraction is there, but she will do her job. He smiles at the occasional distant smile that the distraction had brought to her.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka is not thinking of Corellians. She tries to analyze what the ghost of a Force-signature left in the watcher’s hide at the top of the ridge. Only a month and a half or so ago, she had faced what had been one of her most powerful adversaries in her young life, in the depths of Coruscant, deep below the Jedi Temple. One she had never even seen as she desperately tried to seal a holocron vault with her lightsaber. She closes her eyes at the memory of the agony of the Force-lightning that had traveled from her opponent up her lightsaber and into her body. She remembers that signature distinctly. It consisted of nothing but pure malice, hatred, and evil. An emptiness of all sentient emotions except those of darkness. Overlaid with just a hint of familiarity. An inkling. Nothing more.

Ahsoka stops and drops her hands to her side. She closes her eyes, reaching deeper into the Force. A sensation of ashes returns to her mouth, but with something else. All of the usuals that she would’ve suspected. Anger, fear, hatred—a burning hatred.

But others as well. Pain. The pain of losses. She goes deeper. A _brother? A mother?_ Both screaming as the Force takes them in Ahsoka’s mind. Exhaustion. Exhaustion at betrayals - both betrayals experienced and betrayals enacted. Anger again. At a hidden Master. All consuming hatred.

She stops. She had fought or had been near several so-called Siths, including the hidden one. This signature felt nothing like most of them, with its hint of loss and pain.

Only Asajj Ventress, when she had aided Ahsoka in the undercity, had come close to this pain and loss. Pity edges into her own sensations. Pain for the loss and the betrayal. The pain endured at the loss of his legs.

Ahsoka sharpens her resolve, as she sees in a brief burst of vision, her Master’s master holding Satine Kryze, a lightsaber wound burning her chest.

There was pain and loss, but unlike Ventress at the end, there was no hint of remorse in this signature. Only a greater purpose. To kill his Master. To end his own pain.

Ahsoka feels herself come back to the present. Her fists unclench.

~=~=~=~=~=

Behind her, her Captain and another warrior watches the young woman. “Rex, you have to tell her. She has to end this with Maul. Some of our allies are beginning to think she’s afraid to face him.” She blanches at the look that the command clone gives her.

“Ahsoka Tano knows what she has to do. More than any of us, she knows her responsibility. I would rather that she face him smart, rather than how so-called allies say she has to.”

Bo-Katan nods. She pulls her _buy’ce_ on over her red hair. She strides purposefully to the still figure.

Unbeknownst to any of them, a message goes out through the Force. _Let’s end this, Maul. Let us end it, now_.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka turns as Bo-Katan walks up to her. “You know that we have to move, girl,” the Kryze says. “We’re going to lose ground on everything if we don’t.”

Ahsoka stares at the warrior, her eyes hard. “I’m aware of what I have to do. Neither you, nor Rex, nor anybody can do this. I have to.”

Bo takes off her helmet and lances the young woman with her gaze “Really? It seems like you aren’t the only one fighting here. It’s time for you to take on Maul, so that we can put this thing to bed.” Her look softens. “I watched you take out four of Vizla’s assholes without breaking a sweat. That was when you were even younger than you are now. Maul will be hard, but I think that we can take him together. Just like you’ve been fighting your heart out with your troops and mine. You don’t have to take him alone, Ahsoka, just because you’re a _jetti._ Your Master gave you these troops to back you up, not just to take on all the non-big bads.”

Ahsoka is silent. After a moment, she nods. “Okay. We need to figure out what to do. Get Rex and the others.”

Bo-Katan smirks. “That’s my girl, your Generalship. Almost makes me wish that I had done more than slap you on your ass.”

The eyeroll is probably felt in Keldabe. “Watch yourself, twit. I’ve learned a few things since Carlacc.”

Bo-Katan can’t allow her to get the last word. “Is that the same teacher that seems to make you look off in the distance a lot?”

Ahsoka feels a flush of orange skin, as well as lekku transitioning through various shades of blue. She grins to herself, in the midst of the flush. _Little bit of a twitch in there, as well_.

The young General is saved by Rex walking up. “Bit of a problem, General. One of our artillery rounds hit the gates and walls of Sundari prison. They were firing in support of one of our attacks. Round went long.”

“What’re the casualties, Rex?” Ahsoka asks, dreading the answer. “Don’t know. But the prisoners are getting the hell out of there. Not too many guards in the mood to round them up.”

She looks away. “Send two companies to round them up,” she orders.

Rex and Bo look at one another. “Tano, we don’t have the troops to be do-gooding—,” the Mando starts.

“I am not going to have murderers turned out by something we did,” the General replies, steel in her eyes.

“Goddammit, girl, look around you. We have enough murderers to contend with, fighting Death Watch and Maul. We don’t have the troops to round these up. Besides. Most of the prisoners there were thieves and swindlers. Most of the murderers were recruited by Death Watch anyway.”

A 332nd sergeant walks up to Rex and salutes. “Our left flank is under attack, Captain. We need to reinforce it.” Rex looks at Ahsoka.

She turns away. Bo-Katan touches her cheek. “I know, Tano. But this is one of those hard choices you have to make.”

The young woman turns to Rex and the Sergeant. “Order the reserve to the flanks.” Rex nods to the other. He salutes and turns away. Ahsoka looks at both her Captain and the heir to the throne. “Let’s end this.”


	11. Unwanteds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedtime stories.

Covenant walks down the narrow streets of the Old City, on his way to the Palace. He takes a moment as he walks to center himself, by gazing on the beautiful architecture. Strangely, he finds himself drawn to the beautiful, peaceful world.

A world that has given him a sanctuary from the brawling politics of his own. His own world of gamblers and fighters that can be hard on members of its Elder Family.

He shakes his head at the reverie and continues on his way. He will have a ways to walk to the Palace. The cool mountain air will give him time to figure out what the hell he can say to convince the leader of an Elder Family of this world to travel to his.

Or at least the husband of that leader. He had already tried with the leader in a small diner. He sighs. _With about as much success as he had with everything else he had done at the DPPS. Which is to say ‘not much.’_

He thinks of finding a discreet corner and calling Ahsoka. She has had more success in dealing with her bosses. If anyone could truly say they have success at handling Breha Organa. _No. I can’t call her every time I can’t figure something out._

He grins, thinking of other reasons to call her. He stops. _Why do I have to call her? I have my own ‘fixer’ here to out-argue the Queen. One who has actually won arguments with the royal in question. One who has actually bragged of throwing the smaller queen over her shoulders and taking her where she wanted._

He grins at that picture in his mind. The grin fades as he thinks of the issue that he and Nola had not dealt with. One that apparently Nola and Ahsoka had. The fact that Nola had known that Ahsoka was alive when she had met him again. Had known that she had meant something to him, apparently, from her close association with Ahsoka’s dreams and nightmares. He smiles as he thinks of how that association might have come about. _I am glad she had someone to live with. To seize the light, as Dani’s people called it._

Covenant’s face grows serious. He stops and puts his head against the nearest stone wall. His heart seizes as he thinks of the pain that she might have dealt with.

The pain of her responsibility. The responsibility and charge to protect a movement against the darkness. A charge from two people firmly in the light, dealing with darkness and deception at every turn. The Queen and Viceroy of the Royal House of Alderaan. Two people dealing with unfamiliar roles forced upon them, as well. A young ex-Handmaiden, reeling from her perceived failures, trying to seal herself off from all closeness.

All trying to do what they feel is right. Including him, as he gave instructions when he and Nola had first met. Instructions to keep his world safe. Two ‘not Jedi’ in close proximity could be devastating. A dynamic made easier by his damaged Force connection.

He looks up. A Peacekeeper eyes him curiously. He hopes that he has not spoken aloud. The officer sees his rank plaque, stiffens and salutes. The officer turns away.

“Way to build confidence in your troops, General,” comes a dry voice with an affected Coruscanti accent. “Wandering around talking to yourself.”

Covenant’s eyes narrow as they fall on the speaker. Dav Kolan stands at the entrance to an alley, dressed in civilian clothes.

~=~=~=~=~=

Jan t’Kryze walks into her small house. She unbuckles her gunbelt with distaste and throws it on the table near the couch. Unlike just about everyone here, she doesn’t wear _beskar’gam_ , the signature armor of the Mando. She, like the woman that she patterned herself after, felt no need for the affectation. The Corellian blaster was a necessity. She grins as she thinks that she might need to find a WESTAR at some point. To maintain the illusion. The illusion that she actually feels pride in being a Mandalorian. A people who had rejected her, thoroughly.

She turns towards the small fireplace. She starts when she realizes that the fireplace is already lit. Her eyes track to her chair.

A pair of powerful blue eyes stare into her own matching windows. Eyes that have seen as much as she has, in much less time. She quickly regains her composure and calmly walks over to the opposite chair. “Hello, Fulcrum,” she says. “Didn’t expect to see you sitting in my chair.” Her eyes narrow. “In my house.”

“Oh, I _am_ sorry,” the warrior says in a clear voice. “Didn’t realize it was yours. Thought it was borrowed, just like everything else in your life, dear,” she says. Her own eyes flash in the dim light. “Or stolen.”

Jan tries to keep her breathing even as she sits.

“Thing is, I knew Satine Kryze,” the younger woman says. “I should’ve seen the deception. Maybe I wanted to think that some part of her family, the peaceful one, was still alive. Maybe I wanted to believe that there was someone on this fucking world, a world that I have nearly died on several times, was actually not a self-serving idiot.”

Jan realizes the young woman has something in her hands. Fulcrum— _no, Tano. You know her name_ —places the datapad on the table. Jan’s stomach sinks as she sees a representation of her own visage. Her true face, staring back from a Mandalorian booking holo. Her newly shorn red hair flashing.

Ahsoka Smirks. “Guess the red hair would’ve been too close to Bo-Katan, rather than Satine,” she muses. Her eyes grow distant for a moment. For an instant, Jan knows that she is back on a burning world. Fighting for survival. Survival for her troops, her allies, and herself. In that order.

She watches the young woman shake her head. Her eyes cut through the Mandalorian. “I have been thinking about a bedtime story, dear,” she says, an edge to her voice.

“Oh? I assume that since you are here, you intend to sleep in my bed?” Jan smiles briefly. “While I wouldn’t mind the possibility, I have to let you know that I am married.”

Ahsoka’s expression remains even. “As tempting as that is, I am not sure that both of us would survive the experience.”

Jan glances over at her holstered blaster. Gauging the distance.

“Give it up, Jan. You wouldn’t be able to reach it before I filled you full of holes. Or sliced you in half. Just sit and listen to my story.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Covenant watches as Kolan downs his third whiskey. “So what do I owe the pleasure of buying you overpriced whiskey, Trigger?” he asks.

“What do you mean, overpriced, King? Whyren’s Blue is the good stuff.”

“You’re trying to tell a Corellian about whiskey?” Covenant says. “It is blended crap, not single-malt. Overmarketed to pretentious Lothali with affected Coruscanti accents.”

Kolan’s smile travels to his eyes for an instant. “You didn’t seem to think I was too pretentious a couple of months ago.” Both flash to memories of light and touches, of one night in a Coruscant hotel. One night in which one of them might’ve won the Great Intelligence Game. If the other didn’t let him.

“Yeah, I still did. I just hid it well.”

Kolan grows serious. “Bryne, I think that Alderaan and the Organas may be in danger. I am involved in a pissing contest between a Moff and ISB. I think that I have been involved since the whole Krell thing.”

Covenant is silent as he allows the ISB officer to talk. “The Moff is close to you, isn’t he?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah. He made me, if you will. My first Captain in the Judicials. He saw something in me, a provincial shitkicker.” Dav picks up a glass of water and sips it. “But I am not sure of anything, anymore.”

Covenant’s eyebrow raises. He does something against his nature. He continues to listen without comment.

“I think that Moff Secor has pointed me in the direction of Director Antol for his own reasons—his own power grab,” Kolan finishes.

“Yeah,” Covenant interjects. “But it ain’t like he chose someone that isn’t playing her own games. Someone who has already threatened me and the Organas. So what leads you to believe that Secor may be playing you?”

“A combination of things that he has said over the last few months. Even the Zeltron thing with Poldar. I am not sure how much of that was Poldar grasping power and Secor trying to grab it for himself.”

“Well, I am more immediately concerned with Antol. Just because of her family relations, as well as the veiled threats of what would happen if I got too close.”

Kolan nods. “Yeah. She is the one that would be more capable of violence. Not to mention her pet psychopath in Imperial uniform.” Covenant gives a questioning look. “Cantos Lardai. A naval pilot-commando. She has hitched her wagon to good old Leeza.” His expression is one of distaste. “She got in the Republic navy just before the end of the Clone Wars. Standards were apparently down. She is from Tatooine. She had a criminal record on Fondor. I read Kallus’s report on the ‘accidents’ involving Skon and Jed. The knife work sounded a great deal like Imperial unarmed combat techniques.”

The Corellian’s look is troubled. He pulls his comm out and sends a text. “I am trying to get the Royal family to go to Corellia for a while, until I figure this goddamned thing out,” he says.

Kolan nods. “That is a good idea. I will try to keep you in the loop, General,” he says, standing up. “But no promises. I have to figure a few things out. I have been tested in the last year or so.” He looks down. “Maybe I have something that has changed my perspective.” The vision of a smiling Alderaani doctor, looking at him tenderly flashes in his mind—is just as quickly filed in the back.

Covenant sits, his own thoughts taken up with his responsibilities. With a bit of filing away of his own. He gets up and walks out.

~=~=~=~=~=

Tessika Vhehyaim coughs as she makes her way out of her cell. She doesn’t bother grabbing anything more than a blanket to protect her from the heat of the fires from the Republic artillery bolt that had blown the wall, as well as cutting power to the cell doors, throwing them open by default. She keeps along the walls, trying to stay off of everyone’s sensors. Something she had done since sentenced by Kryze’s New Mandalorian regime and thrown into a maximum security prison.

She had managed to not become prey to the murderers and rapists sentenced here by keeping her profile low. Except for odd jobs using her expertise for the more powerful of the lords of the prison.

Usually against another.

She finds herself outside of the walls with little incident. Apparently the guards are not too enthused about going out in the midst of an artillery duel.

She quickly loses her enthusiasm for going out, but she has less choice. Tessika scans the land between the arcs of fire. Her blue eyes lock on a deep depression on the other side of the null-zone.

A deep depression with an even deeper ditch leading away from the populous areas of the dome.

She looks at the fire, timing it as she starts her sprint. She may not have been a warrior, or even a fan of manual labor, but she could run when she needed to.

Just as she enters the possible killing zone, she sees and hears a mass of people heading towards her position. The mass seem to be all clad in orange trimmed white plastoid. Her eyes lock on the figure leading them. A young Togruta woman, green and yellow lightsabers deflecting blaster bolts leads the charge. For an instant, the young woman’s own blue eyes lock with hers as they pass within a few yards of each other.

Another instant and Tessika Vhehyaim is gone.

Ahsoka’s eyes are hard as she listens to the woman, formerly known as Jan t’Kryze. Her face is expressionless. “I know what your last name means in Basic, Tessika,” she says quietly. “Someone who means a great deal to me, also bore the name of ‘Croft’.” Her eyes grow sad. “He was unwanted on Mandalore as well.” She shakes her head. “He has his faults, but he didn’t grow up to be a scumbag grifter and thief. Someone who steals people’s dreams.”

Tessika stares at her with her own hard look. “Easy to judge, Jedi, from your goddamned high-minded Temple.”

Ahsoka says nothing for a moment. “So how did you get off of Mandalore?” she asks.

“A man got me off. He was there pulling some scam, while fighting as a mercenary for the Kryzes.” Her eyes narrow. “So what do you plan to do with me?” she asks.

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I don’t know. Haven’t figured that out. Nothing is off the table.”

At this last, Tessika’s face takes on a look of calculation. “Well, dear, before you make a decision, let me tell you a story. A story that I witnessed on Chalacta a couple of years ago.”

Ahsoka starts at this.

“I had just arrived, not five minutes after some kind of Imperial operation. I saw what happened when a Jedi was discovered. He had been captured, I think after a _jetti’kad_ fight. He was near-dead. Both of his hands had been cut off. I watched the massive, black clad thug that had probably defeated him, drag him front of the crowd. He lifted him up without touching him. I watched the Jedi strangle in mid-air. All the while the thug is announcing what happens to Jedi and their allies. When the Jedi stopped kicking, the thug pulled his saber up and beheaded him without a single hesitation.”

Her eyes grow pained. “He then had his troopers end an older Chalactan man and woman. I think that they were the leaders of the community—some kind of enclave. I think everybody else had escaped. They burned the enclave and left a garrison there. They didn’t allow anyone to take the bodies away, but left them in the streets.”

Ahsoka’s eyes are dark with anger. She stands up. “Darling, I think that I am done with you. I have been threatened by people with a lot more ass than you have to carry them out.”

“Do I count as having enough ass, darling?” a deep, accented voice asks from the door. Ahsoka stares at the two large males who stand in the door. One of them is a familiar Iridonian Zabrak.


	12. Playdates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing in various ways, on various worlds.

Covenant walks down the corridor of the ancient Palace, digesting what Kolan had told him. He stops outside of Bail’s office. An impassive and rather large Royal guard stands at the door. The Guard, just like his own Peacekeepers initially, looks with apprehension at his gunbelt and large Corellian blaster. The Guard relaxes when he sees the plaque. _Either that or my trustworthy, dashing countenance and strong manly jaw_ , Bryne thinks.

The Guard jerks his head towards a chair. “The Viceroy is busy, now,” the mountain says. “I’ll let you know when he is available.”

_So much for the trustworthy countenance._

After twenty minutes with his ass growing numb on the uncomfortable chair, Covenant gets up and walks to the window. He can feel the Guard’s eyes on him, as well as the photoreceptors of the administrator droid sitting at the reception desk. He hears tiny footsteps behind him.

A bright voice breaks his reverie. “Hi!”

He turns around, a smile flowing to his features as he looks down. The presumptive Heir to the Throne of Alderaan looks up at him, a smile on her slightly grimy face. She is clad in shorts and an exercise shirt, garments that are equally marked by contact with the soil of Alderaan. Her caretaker, Flori Laken’s thunderous expression softens when she sees Covenant. A series of adventures involving an artifact on her world had brought them together. He smiles. The adventures and her care and admiration for a certain huntress. Covenant notices for the first time a caretaker droid with them.

A caretaker droid who is fussily extolling the virtues of of young Princesses having their hair in braids, as befits a member of the ruling House of Alderaan. Covenant grins at the tiny sandals held in the droid’s hands. His eyes track to the dark hair tumbling down the little girl’s back.

Covenant notices that Leia’s eyes have moved to him again and the smile has disappeared. The eyes have taken on the look of suspicion. He sees Flori stifle a grin. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you with Her?” the tiny interrogator asks. He smiles his most charming smile at the capitalization of the pronoun in the little girl’s voice. There is no doubt who she is talking about. His eyes take a downward cast, as he thinks about five year olds having to be taught operational security.

Leia Organa does not appear to be impressed with his charm. He notices the Guard smirking. “We’re doing different jobs for your Mom and Dad, Highness,” he says quietly. He sees Flori looking at him sadly out of the corner of his eye. “We have to be apart to do them.” He crouches down beside her, bowing his head.

The dark windows narrow at him. “Are you going to marry her?”

Covenant chokes as tries to figure out how to answer that same suspicious five year old who has just asked him about his relationship status. He can hear snickers from the Guard and administrator droid. Flori looks at him sympathetically, but with a broad smile on her crimson face. “It’s complicated, your Highness,” he finally says, hoping to deflect. He notices that the caretaker droid, WA-2V is looking at him, along with everybody else. “We’ve known each other for a long time. Don’t think that will ever happen,” he stumbles. He looks to Flori for help.

She takes pity on him. “Your Highness, that’s one of those questions we have talked about. A personal one. Just know that he will watch out for her; that she will watch out for him, as well.” Her blue eyes lock with Covenant’s eyes. “Know that they care for each other a great deal,” she finishes in an almost-whisper.

The eyes stay locked on him as he holds his breath. Leia looks up at her caretaker. After a moment, she nods. “Will you come to the playroom with me? Two-vee tells me I have to get cleaned up and she has to put my hair in those stupid braids, but could you?”

He sees Flori’s blue eyes tear for a second. “Highness, General Covenant is waiting to see your Dad—,” she starts. She stops as she sees the girl’s eyes.

“I would be honored to, Highness,” Bryne says. “I’m sure that your Dad will send someone for me when he is ready for me.” He looks at the administrator droid balefully, reserving special fire for the Guard who had been so amused. Both look away from him, but the Guard nods quickly.

He is rewarded by the brightest smile imaginable. Leia extends her other hand, her right one and takes his left one, very carefully, when she sees the splint and glove.

The Director of Peace and Planetary Security of the Sovereign System of Alderaan walks with a Princess to their playdate.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka stares at the two interlopers, particularly at the Zabrak. She feels the twinge under her arm as she sees the remainder of his glaive in his large hand. Her eyes move to the large, muscular Pantoran. Sideways, multicolored crosses cover his cheeks under the bronze eyes. Her eyes widen at the familiarity of those eyes. “I think that you should leave,” the older man says in a thick accent.

Ahsoka stands “Nope. Don’t think I will. Too many people depend on me to clean up your apparent messes. Now where the hell is Calrissian?”

The Pantoran looks at the other bruiser. “Don’t know. You find him, let me know. Might have some words for him. Seeing how he made off with our money.” His eyes harden on hers. “The more immediate issue is the fact that you have threatened someone dear to me.”

Ahsoka smiles tightly. “Oh yeah? Maybe you should tell your ‘loved one’ to keep her fucking little stories to herself.”

He grins. “Language, young woman. Didn’t think they taught those words in the Temple.”

Her expression remains even. _You obviously never met Anakin Skywalker. Or Taliesin Croft. Or Shaak Ti_. She stops as she realizes that the list would include every Jedi she had ever known, with a few possible exceptions. _Maybe Yoda and Luminara Unduli_. “Wouldn’t know what you’re talking about, dear,” she says.

The Zabrak makes a sound of disgust. “Less talk,” he says. “More blood.” He starts to twirl the glaive.

The door behind him explodes open. A very large human male slams into the Zabrak, making him drop the glaive.

The other three in the room stare as the Zabrak whirls. Drop doesn’t bother with his blaster as the two circle each other warily. “Oh, good. A clone. Always wanted to see what it would be like to rip off one’s head.”

“Wondering what your antlers will look like on my ship, sport,” Drop says. There is a rush of air as the two behemoths grapple.

Ahsoka focuses her attention on the Pantoran. Her eyebrow markings raise as he ignores her and watches his companion and the ex-trooper pound away at each other. He grins as he looks at the young woman. “I’ll take my bruiser over yours, my dear. Five hundred credits.”

Ahsoka’s eyes flash for a second, then she grows thoughtful. “Little short. How about if Drop is the last one still standing, you tell me where your thief is. Plus I don’t teach your other thief a lesson about gloating over dead Jedi.”

“Don’t think that is worth five hundred, dear. I guess I’ll have to hurt you, little girl.” His hand moves towards his holstered blaster. His eyes widen as a white shaft of light seemingly grows out of her right hand.

He moves towards her, ignoring the thuds and grunts from the two combatants. As he does, the number of armed beings in the room grow almost exponentially.

“Everybody stop killing each other before I start shooting.”

This in a mezzo-soprano voice, accented in the sounds of Pantora. He whirls, looking into the dangerous bronze eyes of a tall young woman. Her hand rests on the butt of a blaster, holstered in a cross-draw. Ahsoka Smirks as she sees him involuntarily rub his ass. He holds his hands out and smiles what he assumes is his most disarming smile. A smile that has conned several Chairs of his world and other power brokers, as well as a large number of the galaxy’s wealthy citizens.

Either out of credits or trust.

Mostly trust.

“Hello, my daughter. Been awhile.”

Ahsoka Tano’s jaw drops as she looks at her friend. To her credit, Lassa Rhayme doesn’t immediately pull.

~=~=~=~=~=

In a large, well appointed office on Alderaan, the Viceroy-Consort marvels at the warmth of his Queen’s skin over her breasts. The glow of the pulmonodes, the devices that keep her alive, but do nothing to impact her strength—or slow her down from getting herself into the thick of battles, be they with words, with blasters, or with her fists and feet—plays over his skin as he tries to control his breathing. His own heart contracts as he remembers other fears for her health.

The several miscarriages, painful for both of them. Miscarriages that had led to the adoption of the beautiful, imperious little girl. They each count their blessings. Blessings that demonstrate to them that light can arise from darkness.

After a moment, she pushes him away. Breha starts to rise from her position in his lap, but stops with a gasp as his lips begin to play over the glow again. “Bail,” she starts. “Bryne is waiting.”

“Let him wait. I am so sure that he has never had important meetings in his office that kept people waiting.”

“I don’t think he has ever used his office here, love,” she says.

“Yeah, well,” Bail replies. “Draq’s told me of a couple of times that he and Fulcrum may have used the Procurator’s desk for—meetings.”

Breha rolls her eyes and makes the decision. She climbs off of her consort’s lap, pulling the top of her gown over her skin. She reaches down and pulls up her underwear, smoothing her skirt. She reaches down and kisses Bail. “I’m not sure I wanted to know that, dear,” she says. She rests her forehead against his. “How do you feel about them, love?” she asks.

He is silent for a moment. “I don’t know, my heart,” he replies. “I’m glad that she will have more support. I think that will make Nola feel better. But I just hope their—closeness is not a distraction that may cost them.” He looks away. He sighs and pulls his trousers up. She buckles his belt.

“Bail, I know you,” she says. “You’re thinking about your part in keeping Ahsoka’s survival away from Bryne. And his from her.”

He stays silent. “Yeah. I did what I thought was best for the survival of the movement. She was so close to Skywalker. I feared her a little bit, I think. But I also knew what had helped me find her in the first place. All of those mysterious ‘acts of kindness’ in the Outer Rim.” He pulls her close. “I don’t know if I am cut out to be the leader of a rebellion,” he says quietly. “I sometimes wonder if I can be ruthless enough.”

She reaches up and kisses him. “You’ll do what you have to, my consort. But it will tear you apart. It’s one of the things that I love about you. It is what makes you different from Palpatine. It might just be the edge that we need.”

Later, as she approaches the door of a Princess’s playroom, she thinks about his pain. Of the sacrifices, as she opens the door and looks at one who may have to be sacrificed. Not just his life, but his happiness.

Queen Breha Organa of Alderaan smiles gently as her Peacekeeper-General sits quietly and colors with a newly-scrubbed and at-least-brushed Princess.

~=~=~=~=~=

On a brightly lit artificial world of pleasure, known as the Wheel, a bland-faced Imperial commander watches as a smooth young man eyes his cards. The young man looks back at the Imperial and the large Hutt, his only remaining opponents. His eyes shift towards the large pile of credits in the pot. His handsome face is expressionless, except for his thin mustache.

“We are waiting, human. You’ve ramped up the credits. Now show your cards,” says the Hutt in her guttural language, translated in the screens above them.

He smiles. “Of course, Mistress,” he says. Without another word, he lays his cards down. There is a collective gasp among the gallery at the half-Sabacc. There is no sound from the Hutt as she quivers—more so than usual—in raw anger.

The Imperial’s own eyes are flashing. They narrow as he spies something above the Hutt. The young human politely bows his head to both of his opponents as he goes to drag the pile of credits to his front.

As his hand reaches out, a short folding knife slams down, just to the right of his hand. The blade quivers in the table, as well as in his sleeve.

The Imperial quietly lifts the sleeve up, displaying a small device on the young man’s dark forearm. A device with a small screen. A small screen currently displaying over a Hutt’s meaty shoulder. The Hutt swivels. A tiny, insect-like device floats, a device that resembles a wisp of dust in the bright lights.

The Hutt bellows. Several large Nikto swarm, seizing the young human. “No, Mistress, I can explain—,” he starts. The crowd turns and leaves the area as the Nikto pull various bladed weapons.

The weathy patrons of the Wheel prefer not to have blood with their gambling. Unless it flows on the gladiator levels.

A large metallic hand grasps the hand of the lead Nikto with the blade in it. “We do not allow murders on the Wheel. If there is punishment to be meted out, it will be meted out by management,” the IG-80 security/punishment droid intones.

The Nikto looks to argue. As he does, the metallic hand closes. The thug screams as his wrist and hand, still clutching his blade, falls to the floor.

“By management only,” the droid repeats. The Hutt stares at the droid. She motions to the thugs. They back away, taking their fellow and his severed member away.

Not even a Hutt wants to be banned from the Wheel. The Hutt starts to speak as she sees the cheater taking the opportunity of the distraction to try and escape.

Commander Georg Talonga feels the human slam into his side as he weaves towards the exits. The young thief falls to a fusillade of stun bolts. Talonga pushes him away with disgust.

The guardians collect him and drag him away.

None of his former opponents see the small datachip clutched in his hand after the contact with the naval officer.

~=~=~=~=~=

Raisa Horan sighs as the door closes to her office. She closes her eyes and curses her luck. She has suddenly come under the scrutiny of the newly-appointed Director of the Imperial Security Bureau. A scrutiny that she does not need, given her probationary status as the station chief of this world. _Or with other connections that might bring a premature end to her new position._

A probationary period that does not generally end with anything less than a blaster bolt to the head in Imperial service for failure. She draws her blaster as she suddenly realizes she is not alone in the office.

The blaster remains out and aimed as she sees her predecessor, Dav Kolan sitting at her new desk.

“I see you have already purchased the fancy new furniture for the office, Raisa, dear. The furniture that screams I am important, but ultimately useless.”

She feels the anger flare. “Actually, I wanted to replace the ‘I am not-as-important-as-I-think-I-am and a loose-cannon’ vibe in this office,” she says. “Dear.”

“Careful Raisa. I threatened, but I never followed through with ending you, when I was your boss. Maybe I should work on my follow-through.” He stands. “I want to know what Antol is doing here.”

“Don’t know. Plus, I wouldn’t tell you if I did, Dav, ‘dear.’ You are not in my chain of command.”

Kolan smiles tightly, walking around to stand over her. “Yeah? Well, I would say you might want to answer. I built a solid office in the last year I was here. I will not stand by and have you destroy what I built in just a few weeks, because you want to bend over when a Director tells you to.”

Her eyes widen, but she ignores the veiled threat. She brings her blaster up and sticks it in his gut. “Maybe I’ll just let you ask Director Antol.”

She grunts as he easily plucks the blaster from her hand. “Careful, darling. You seem to have forgotten your training. I have no problem discussing it with Antol. I look forward to it.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Kolan turns and walks out of the office. He pulls the powerpack and the actuator pin and drops the blaster in the nearest trash can. As he steps into the dimly lit streets, Dav takes a deep breath. For about the hundredth time, thinks of what he has been asked to do. He shakes his head as he wonders if he can navigate the internecine politics of the profession chosen for him. He smiles as he thinks of what a young Alderaani doctor had offered him.

_Come with me, Dav. You have done your bit. Help me change the world. You don’t have to fight._

His smile fades at his words. _Maybe I do, love_ , he thinks to that smiling face.

A blaster shot pierces the quiet air of the evening. His hand goes to his blaster, but he suddenly finds that his hands do not work. They don’t work as he realizes he is on his back on the ground. A warm thick, substance flows over his vision. Just before his vision fades.

It fades on the image of a smiling, bearded face with hazel eyes.


	13. Bumpkins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Queen asks the General’s intentions, but he wins the argument.
> 
> A spy remembers, then realizes he might actually be safe.

Covenant looks up at the door as he hears it open. For an instant, Breha sees a slightly sheepish look flow over his features. It is gone after that instant, replaced with an expectant look, mixed with a sarcastic, crooked grin. She rolls her eyes at the bare feet and unbound hair of her coloring princess. Flori sits in the corner reading a datapad.The caretaker droid sits across the room, her photoreceptors dim. She looks back at Covenant, who is looking anywhere but at her.

For a moment, Breha doesn’t see her new paladin. She sees Ahsoka. She sees her standing next to her daughter as she accepts her crown as Queen of Alderaan. Standing there as a trusted councilor and advisor. She sees Ahsoka’s joy at a celebration of the end of the Emperor. Joy mixed with sadness and the pain of loss. She sees Ahsoka’s aged face, still powerful and beautiful. In all of these scenes, she is looking at the man seated next to her daughter, as well as other loved ones standing with her. 

These dreams outnumber the ones that she has been having since she had met Ahsoka. Since she had fallen under her spell as a powerful warrior and protector. Visions of the young woman lying spent on some forgotten world. Of her body being put in an unmarked grave on one of those worlds.

She shakes her head at those dark thoughts.

She notices that Covenant is watching her. Watching the play of emotions over her face, while his own face shows those same emotions. He turns to Leia. “May your mother borrow me for a bit, Highness?” he asks. 

The dark eyes narrow at her mother for a moment, then turns to him with a bright smile that flows across her face. “I guess, Gen’r’l,” she says, managing the word. She tugs at his arm and pulls his face to hers. She kisses him on the cheek and lets him go.

Her General of Peacekeepers, the _Mishleh_ , the one in charge, puts his marker and paper down and rises. He walks over to Breha and bows. On an impulse, she reaches out and touches him gently on his head before it rises. 

“Walk with me, Bryne,” she says. She puts her arm through his and guides them into the corridor. 

The Queen looks up at him as they walk, her security detail trailing discreetly behind them. “Your Majesty—,” he starts. 

“I know what you’re going to say, Bryne. I can’t run every time I am threatened.” He closes his mouth.

She gets an impression of his feet locking to the deck. An expression of stubbornness flows over his even features. She grins. _This is what causes the Dragon to bang his own hard head against the nearest brick wall._

_One of the things_ , her thought finishes, with a smirk. She looks him in the eye. “I didn’t come to argue with you, General,” she says, a hint of steel in her voice. “We’ll talk about that in a moment. I came to talk to you about Ahsoka,” she finishes. 

The crooked grin flows to his lips again. She rolls her eyes. _If I was younger and more impressionable, that grin would probably make me throw my legs open._ She matches the expression with a warm smile. _Still makes certain parts flip. I can appreciate the work of art, if I can’t purchase it for my collection_ , she thinks to the image of the Viceroy-Consort of Alderaan in her mind.

“There seems to be something in the water at the Palace. Both generations of Organa women seem to have an interest in my intentions with Fulcrum.”

Breha laughs, a musical sound in the staid corridors of the residence wing. “Leia will watch her ‘Soka’s back.” 

She stops and pulls him over to a bright alcove. She looks at him, her eyes soft as she sees the panoply of emotions playing over his face. “I am glad that you found each other again, Bryne,” she says. “I have been afraid that we would spend her needlessly. I feel better with you and Dani, as well as Nola, watching her back.”

He is quiet for a moment. “I don’t know, my Queen,” he says quietly. “One, she doesn’t need me. When we were younger, I helped teach her. I dueled with her. I saw how much raw potential she had. I knew that she would surpass me with one arm tied behind her back.” She notices he is careful not to mention what that past life was. _Even in privacy._

Covenant looks away. “I’m not much use to her now.” he says. Breha watches him. “I still have skills, but I don’t know if I would be more than a hindrance to her in a fight.”

Breha takes his hand, his injured hand in hers. “Bullshit, Covenant,” she says. His eyes widen at her words. “I feel like she may actually live past twenty-five with you watching out for her. With each watching out for the other. You have that connection to her, even if the mystical poodoo is spotty. Your _attachment_ to her will help each other survive.”

She pushes on, even though she can see the emotion growing more complex on his features at that word. “That nonsense about not being powerful enough is just what it is. Pure unadulterated idiocy. If anything you give her something to escape to, as well as the tangible support. Draq’ told me about your first fight without the hoodoo, when we were talking to him about you coming here. He said that he could see you working through every thing that came up against you, instantly figuring out how to fight it. Even without your full power.”

“Still got shot in the ass, though.”

“Yes. But something protected your brain.” Their laughter rises together. She gently reaches and pulls the glove off of his injured left hand. Her eyes soften as she sees the scars and damage. She raises the hand to her lips, kissing the scar on his ring finger and on his palm and the back of his hand. She puts the hand down, but still holds it. She looks him in the eye. “Do you love her, Bryne?”

He is silent for what seems like an eternity. “I don’t want to sound like I am avoiding the question, but neither of us feel like we need to use words like that. We know how we feel; that we will come back to each other; we will be there for each other. It is hard to explain. We know that with our lives, we recognize that we can’t be possessive and exclusive.” He tries to keep his mind off of words they have whispered to each other in the darkness, in the trills and vowels of her language, and the drawling cadence of his.

She doesn’t respond immediately, but smiles and nods. “Okay, General. I’ll let you off with that one.” She hears his comm chime. 

“Excuse me, your Majesty,” he says. His face darkens as he reads. She nods as he rises. “Your Majesty, I have to go pull someone’s nuts out of the fire. Please give my regrets to Princess Leia. I enjoyed our ‘strategy session’.”

She rises with him—reaches up and kisses his cheek before he can bow. “Go, my Protector. Do your best and your worst.”

As she watches him leave, she thinks of an ancient title on her world—the equivalent of the one on his world, that he already possesses. She smiles. The embodiment of the title.

She sighs to herself. _Guess I better go to Corellia, so that he has one less worry. Especially since Draq’ asked me to help with Dani and her new responsibility._

~=~=~=~=~=

Dav Kolan stood at attention in front of the desk. His eyes focused on one arm of the Republic cog on the bulkhead. He waits for judgement from the officer seated at the desk.

“You’re from Lothal, aren’t you?” The statement was not an accusation, unlike others who he had stood before. 

The Captain saw the brief expression on the pilot’s face, out of the corner of his eye. He knows what the young man is probably thinking, having thought it about himself, many years ago.

_Maybe the smell of nerf-shit has finally worn off._

The officer looked up at him. “Your flight records are impeccable. I haven’t seen scores like this in years, Ensign,” the Captain says. His sharp, gunmetal eyes looked the young man up and down. The side of his mouth quirked up. “I’ve also not seen this many demerits from a pilot actually allowed to graduate.”

For once, Kolan wisely kept his mouth shut. 

_Maybe he can be taught_ , the Captain thinks. He stood up. “Walk with me, Mr. Kolan,” the senior officer said.

Kolan turned and followed his new Captain out of the hatch. He unconsciously mimicked the older officer, placing his hands behind his back.

“I can see that you have great potential, Ensign. But I also see warning signs,” he finished.

Kolan waited as he sees that they have covered plenty of ground without conversations about his shortcomings. “You probably feel like you are not respected because of where you came from. You think that everyone is out to get you because you have that Outer Rim drawl. Right so far?” he asked.

The young pilot again exercised newfound wisdom, as well as silence. “You compensate well, by being damned good at your job.” He grinned, the first sign of emotion over his controlled, disciplined features. “Then, you overcompensate, by being an absolute asshole to everyone. By brawling, drinking, and disrespecting those who you think are not as smart as you are.” The Captain stopped, and looked at the younger officer. _Apparently his newfound wisdom does not include body language._

Captain Jano Secor narrowed his eyes. Kolan had the good sense to look away. “Have I missed anything, Ensign?”

For the first time, the young Lothali’s eyes narrow in a smile, even though the good sense kept him from showing the expression. “You did forget the arrogance, sir,” he said.

Secor grins. “Can’t forget that. Although most good pilots have that in abundance.”

“Is it arrogance, or confidence, sir?” Kolan spoke again. 

“Little of both, I am afraid,” the Captain said ruefully. He tapped the gold wings embroidered on his sleeve as their shared laughter rose. He sobered. “Does it sound like I’ve heard these things listed before?” he asked.

“Yessir,” Kolan replied. “I imagine that you have seen every type of arrogant little shit under your command.”

“Yes, I have, Kolan.” He paused. The next words from his mouth sound different. “But I am referring to my own experience,” Secor replied. The younger officer’s eyes widened as he heard the vowels broaden and the words stretch out into a drawl, as he tried to figure out the accent. One not exactly like his, but similar. Secor knew the thoughts in his mind. _Mandalorian? Not the homeworld._

“Yes. This is what I sound like. What I sounded like before someone knocked me over the head with my own arrogance and with my own provincial-ness, if you will.”

“I think that I can make something of you, Dav Kolan. If you can refrain from being so damned quick on the trigger.” He smirked. “Think I just found your callsign.”

His laughter echoed in Kolan’s head. 

Kolan’s eyes snap open to the sharp pain in his head. Bryne Covenant looks down at him, his expression unfathomable, but with a hint of snark in his eyes.

~=~=~=~=~=

Dav drinks deeply from the cup of ice water, as Covenant supports his head. After drinking his fill, he shakes his head from the Corellian’s hands.

His apparently bantha-sized head. He grimaces as it touches the pillow. 

He refuses to look at the grin on Covenant’s face. “I could say many things about how your hard head was actually good for something. But, I won’t. Too bad; I got a million of ‘em,” he says.

“Thank you. I would hate to have to shoot you in a medcenter,” Kolan says with a grimace.

“Might be kinda hard without pants.”

Kolan lifts the sheet up. “It usually is. So, did you undress me?” he asks.

Covenant rolls his eyes. “Nope. Didn’t know if I could resist your charms or not. Left it to the nurses.”

“Pity. You didn’t seem too shy on Coruscant a couple of months ago.”

A cleared throat from behind Covenant cuts into Dav’s consciousness. His eyes widen as a tall form rises from a chair. A very tall form.

“As much as I am finding this discussion of my _Mishleh’s_ ahh— _entanglements_ fascinating—well, actually disturbing, we have a bigger problem,” Bail Organa says.

For the first time, Dav looks at his surroundings. He realizes that the room is a good bit more elegant than most Alderaani medcenters. He doesn’t back down from royalty.

“Yes, I could see where your Director’s propensity for thinking with a small head could be an issue for you and the Queen,” the Imperial says.

“Not really. Only when he thinks with it around an Imperial who has no compunctions against hurting my world,” Organa says, his dark eyes hard.

Kolan has the good sense to realize when he is outmatched. “So why am I here, rather than in a medcenter?” he asks.

“Figured it might be advantageous if you were dead,” Covenant says.

Kolan’s eyebrows raise. 

“We put it out that your little friend with the rifle wasn’t so shitty with their shooting. Surprisingly, no one from Imperial-land has come-a-callin’, yet,” Covenant says.

Dav thinks about the logic of this. “So what now?” He looks at Organa. “Do you really need to be here, Senator? You might want to be able to deny any of this.”

Organa smiles. “Your concern is almost touching, Agent,” he replies. His expression grows dark again. “But someone, perhaps two someones, might be playing deadly games with my family. I will be here.”

Kolan nods. _Guess pacifist politicians do have some balls_. “So what is the plan, General?” he asks. 

Covenant doesn’t immediately reply. “You’re going to heal a bit. Then I may set you on any number of scumbags on my world.” Dav sees Bail hide a smile at the possessiveness.

“Charming idea, but I do actually work for the Empire, dear,” Kolan points out. 

“Yeah. About that. Do we really know which brand of Imperial is trying to kill you? Is it Antol, or is it the one whose name you were crying out a few minutes ago?” 

Kolan is silent. Instead, he asks, “Have you found out anything more since we last met?”

Covenant narrows his eyes, but answers. “We have discovered that the murders of the assorted scumbags actually started before this bit of issue with the diner. About two and a half years ago.” He shakes his head. “Haven’t found anything else,” he says. He looks Kolan in the eye. “Didn’t answer my question, Trigger,” he says.

Kolan looks away. “Don’t rightly care. Get me some pants. I am going to find out which,” he says with a fierce expression.

Covenant smirks. “I know I said that you have a hard head, but you are in no shape to get out there. You spent some time in bacta. You need some rest.” His expression changes slightly. “To help you with that, we brought someone in. Someone who might have some experience dealing with your bullshit, yet still seems to want to be around you.”

He steps aside, as the door opens. Kolan’s eyes widen. Dek Antilles stands there. Kolan’s eyes grow thunderous.“Dammit, Dek, you can’t be here. It is too dangerous—,” he starts.

Dek silences him with his lips. “Hush. I wanted you to know if something happened to me. I left your alternate comm with my aunt. You’re safe.”

Bail looks at Dav. “Yes. You are.” He looks sideways at the Lothali. “He might have questionable taste in men, but he is family. We will look out for all who he claims. As long as who he claims doesn’t hurt him,” he finishes with a warning. “Or his world.”

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Bail says. He looks at Covenant. “This is another reason that you are not in a medcenter,” he says pointedly. “I got tired of hearing complaints about certain activities in their rooms that they weren’t meant for.” Kolan smirks at Covenant’s discomfort, as both leave.

He turns to the young doctor. Dek is pulling his clothes off. “So that is your bit on the side? Not bad. Might be fun to share,” he says, a gleam in his hazel eyes. He climbs into bed.

“All in the line of duty, nerd,” Kolan says. Dek’s reply is lost as his mouth moves downward.


	14. The Father-Daughter Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thug is confronted by his daughter. Two larger thugs are amused at the attempt at reconciliation. Fulcrum smiles a bit, as well.

Lassa Rhayme stares at the giant Pantoran, with pure malice and hatred. Bronze eyes are locked that are nearly identical to each other, Ahsoka realizes. 

She realizes something else. Sorentin Rhayme does not stare at his daughter with malice and hatred. Other emotions play over his otherwise hard eyes. Something that Ahsoka has seen, if not in a father’s eyes, in those of her Master. Of her Master’s Master. Of her Finder. In the eyes of her Mother of the Hunt. The love and pride of a parent. The ex-Jedi turns to her friend. Lassa’s fingers drum on the butt of her blaster, as if trying to come to a decision. Ahsoka notices that the room has become quiet. Even Drop and the Zabrak have stopped pounding away at each other to watch the drama.

Sorentin has made a decision of his own. A smile flows to his strong features. He holds his arms out. “Lassa, my love. It’s good to see you.” 

Lassa maneuvers out of his outstretched arms. “Don’t you ‘my love’ me, you asshole. I thought I told you that I better never see you again,” she says. His attempt at an embrace stops. He turns his hands to his chest. 

“You wound me, my dear. I have missed you so much.”

For an instant, Ahsoka sees a glint of amusement in Lassa’s eyes. “Nope,” she says, “I haven’t pulled yet. Unlike last time.”

The Smirk flows to Ahsoka’s features as she sees the older Pantoran unconsciously rub his rear. She has often wondered if she would ever receive a bolt in that area. _So far so good.  
_

“What is it with you, girl?” the elder Rhayme asks. “I love you. Why this anger and hatred?”

Lassa’s lip curls in a sneer. “Why don’t you ask my mother. Oh, wait. You can’t. Because she’s dead.”

“That is not my fault—,” he stops as he sees her eyes flare. 

“Oh, yeah? Really, you bastard? You go off galavanting around the galaxy, pissing everybody off, abandoning she and I to the less-than-tender mercies of that witch that you happened to marry first. You have the gall to say ‘that is not my fault’?” She looks away as Ahsoka sees the incredible sight of tears forming in the pirate’s eyes. She moves towards her friend. _Her sister._

Lassa brushes her tears away and shakes Ahsoka’s hand off. She smiles and touches the warrior’s hand. She focuses on Sorentin. “You abandoned us. She loved you more than anything and you left her in that place.” She looks down. “You abandoned me,” she whispers.

“No,” he says quietly, his unable to meet hers. “You are wrong. I left because I loved you. I knew that I was a threat to Chairman Chi Cho. Or at least a hindrance to my family being free. The other children were grown and could make their own way. You and your mother were under threat, always.” His eyes track to his boots “I know Lilandra wasn’t the warmest person; that she treated you both badly. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

He smiles softly. “You standing there, even about to shoot me, tells me that you’re my daughter. Of all of those other nine brats, you’re the one most like me. The one that I’m most proud of. The one who could truly survive anything.”

Ahsoka sees the break coming. She starts to move as Lassa draws her blaster. She points it higher than she did the last time. Between his eyes. The muzzle is only centimeters from his face. The elder Rhayme raises his head and focuses his eyes on his daughter. There is no fear in his eyes.

Ahsoka tenses. _No, sweetie. This isn’t you_ , she thinks. She can see Lassa’s hand shaking as she tries to tighten her finger on the trigger.

She curses. She drops her hand and turns her back. The room relaxes. Sorentin smiles and nods his head. “That isn’t me, daughter. That is all your mother. The compassion.”

She whirls around. “So you’re saying I am weak because of it?” she says. The blaster twitches again.

His smile widens. “Just the opposite, Lass,” he says. “It makes you stronger. It makes you smarter than me.”

Lassa turns and walks over to the opposite side of the room, holstering her blaster, at least. Tessika follows her over. Ahsoka is about to intervene when the avatar of a miniature Anakin Skywalker appears on her shoulder and whispers in her ear. She Smirks.

“You know he loves you, my dear,” she says, her hand on Lassa’s shoulder. “Yours is the only baby-holo he has.” 

Lassa looks at the hand on her shoulder, as if it is diseased. “That picture, ‘dear’,” she says, “is probably from a holo-ad for diapers or baby food.” Her eyes narrow. “How the hell would you know? Who are you?”

Tessika smiles, apparently oblivious to certain cues. “I am his wife. His third wife, and apparently the only one left.”

The Mandalorian woman rocks back towards the wall. She strikes it and slides down to rest sloppily on the floor. Lassa grasps her right hand in pain from its connection with the woman’s jaw.

Sorentin winces and closes his eyes. Drop and the Zabrak, Gral Kruvure, look at one another, shrug, and nod approvingly.

Ahsoka walks over and takes Lassa’s hand between hers. She starts to rub the knuckles gently. “Feel better?” she asks quietly.

Lassa looks at her father. “I don’t know. Kinda.” 

Ahsoka brings the knuckles up and kisses them. She folds Lassa into her arms.

As she rests her head on Ahsoka’s shoulder, her mind’s eye sees a small girl, a blaster in her hands, sighting on a target. A large, smiling man steadying her arms.

~=~=~=~=~=

Daaineran Faygan lets her breath out as she looks down at the sleeping girl. The finally sleeping girl. The atmosphere had calmed, if not the girl’s fears and pain. She had continued her onslaught of tears even after Draq’ and the others had left—probably in order to argue over who should take care of the Elector-Presumptive. 

Two days after she had come to take over the care of Jamelyn. When she thought she had made connections with her charge.

Her eyes grow dark. Delilah Sal, Draq’, and others of the Electoral Council were discussing even if she should be the Elector at all. The Imperial Advisor had mentioned that Rasteen Blackthorn, the older uncle of the little girl, might have a stronger claim. The Dragon and the Councilors, while showing admirable restraint in not drawing a hidden blaster and shooting the Imperial in the head, had produced the document that had legally stripped him of his claim, upon the proof of his mother’s culpability in the murder of his father and new wife. A culpability wiped out in the next generation. An innocent generation, if another untainted by death could not be found. The Imperial, rumored to be an offspring of that woman, had not been impressed and had suddenly begun to apply more pressure.

A pressure that had caused the well to burst on the six-year old. The loss of her father, the deadly illness of her mother, and the sudden strange surroundings, had proven more than even the strong little girl could take. It had not helped when Dani, in a fit of anger, had suddenly focused her people’s gift into the debate, causing both friend and foe to flee at the onslaught of disgust.

Jamelyn had finally fallen asleep against Dani’s arm, her tears flowing on her guardian’s crimson skin. She shakes her head, trying to disperse her own raw emotions. _After two hours of rocking and singing, she’s finally cried out and run down_. Dani Faygan, who feared little, who had once thrown herself between a Sith’s lightsaber and her father, is now unsure whether she can do this. Whether she can be the mother of a world’s hope. The tears against her crimson skin draw her attention. Her emotions well as she sees the scarlet skin of another against hers. She reaches under her top and draws out the red-gold resin-jewel around her waist. A hue somehow between hers and the other’s. She wipes her own tears as she remembers the powerful teacher who had been her heart-bond.

A teacher who had raised a powerful Jedi and compassionate person from a prickly, mercurial and stubborn Padawan. When asked how she had done it, after a particularly vexing argument with the aforementioned bantha’s ass, Shaak Ti had smiled and kissed her.

_I let him fail. I let him cry when he was young. I let him grow, Dani._

There were unspoken words from the Jedi Master and hunt-mother. Unspoken but understood from her. The powerful teacher whose outward mien was one of serenity, but who Dani had the privilege of seeing the compassion and the passion for her students. Taliesin. Elle. The clones.

Her.

She smiles as she lets the liquid of Jamelyn’s tears run from her crimson skin. 

_You love them, Dani._

She looks up as the door opens. Another powerful mother stands framed in the door, her own child standing there respectfully, but looking at the slightly older girl with a smile. Their eyes lock as Breha takes in the scene of Dani holding the sleeping girl.

She nods approvingly.

_You love them._

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka watches as Sorentin Rhayme disconnects his comm, his eyes slightly troubled. _Only slightly._

“Well?” she says, her eyes expectant. Beside her, she feels Lassa’s strong hand twitch against her arm on the couch. Ahsoka smiles gently and puts her hand over the trigger finger.

“Well, as you say, my dear, our wayward kid is in deep poodoo,” he replies. “He got caught cheating on the Wheel.”

Ahsoka shakes her head, closing her eyes as she tries to remember a long ago travelogue. The Wheel. A gambler’s paradise in the Besh Gorgon system in the Mid-Rim. An independent space station administered by a wayward Senator, Simon Greyshade.

A place not known for coddling cheaters. She looks up and at the grim face of Rhayme. “So. Is he dead yet?”

He looks at his wife, sitting at the table, a large cloth with ice resting against her slightly swollen jaw. Her eyes well with tears. He looks away from Tessika. “No. They are probably figuring out how they are going to do it. Or if he can make more profit as entertainment in the arenas.” He smiles ruefully. “I wondered where he had gotten off to. Should have known he would have gone where the women and the money might be. To invest his take.”

For the first time, Gral Kruvure, Rhayme’s Zabrak partner, is more poetic than he has been since she and Drop had encountered him. 

He shrugs. “Shit happens.”

Ahsoka is inclined to agree. 

A piercing sound, half-way between a cry and curse, comes from the table. “How can you say that?” Tessika cries. She looks at her husband. “You said he was like a son to you.” Her gaze moves to Gral. She quickly moves away after giving him a look of burning contempt. “We need to get him out. He is family, Sor,” she finishes. 

A snort comes from Ahsoka’s side. “Way to go, dear,” Lassa says. “Appeal to him about family.”

Tessika’s blue eyes flash as she stands up, dropping the icepack. “You don’t know him, like I do. He has changed.” She looks away. “He saved me,” she whispers. 

The room is silent for a moment. Tessika looks at Ahsoka. Her glistening eyes are hard. “I thought you Jedi and do-gooders were fighting against people being killed indiscriminately. Even if they did something wrong. Well, it looks like it was just a goddamned lie. She pushes closer to Ahsoka and Lassa’s couch. She looms over them both, as much as she can. Neither moves or flinches. “Well, you won’t see a goddamned farthing of your rebel money, if he is eaten by a Rancor, dear.”

Ahsoka remains silent for a moment. “You’re not exactly one to be lecturing me on altruism, Tessika,” she says, quietly. So quietly that the others have to strain to hear. “You were just now gloating over the butchery of fugitive Jedi and their allies.”

“You left me no choice, kid,” she says. Her expression softens. “I saw the reports on you. The whispers. The Republic was going to execute you for what they thought you did. You, a teenager. Lando is barely older than you were.”

Ahsoka closes her eyes as the memories flood. Memories of standing in the defendant’s dock, Padme’ Amidala standing next to her. Standing there facing her death; about to be found guilty. Her mind, strangely goes to Croft’s reaction when he had heard of her trial. Of immediately sending his and two other stardestroyers to Coruscant. To free her if necessary. Only arriving a few days after she had already left the Order. An empty gesture to some, but not to her.

She sighs. “Alright. We’ll go get your grifter,” she says. Lassa starts to protest, but stops as she sees the expression on Ahsoka’s face. She smiles as if being reminded of someone else. Ahsoka stands and walks up to Tessika. She sees a moment of fear in her face.

Ahsoka turns to Drop. “Dropster, I need you to stay here. Tessika is staying with you.” She stills the protests starting from both, holding up her hand. “She’s our guarantee. I think that ‘Daddy’, here and his pet thug will behave if she’s on Stornan cooling her heels.”

She Smirks as she sees the expression on the two Rhaymes and the the thug grow thunderous. 

Lassa narrows her eyes. “I might owe you something for that ‘Daddy’, crack, sweet-cheeks,” she says.

“Might be fun to collect, dear,” Ahsoka says without missing a beat.

Tessika pulls closer, not backing down. “So I’m your hostage, then? You going to kill me if they misbehave?”

Ahsoka, remarkably, does not feel any fear. She moves even closer and looks down on the woman. Tessika steps back, involuntarily. “No. Don’t worry. Drop has gotten soft in his old age. He may only turn you over to the Stornani. Or to the Kryze. They’re pacifists. Mostly.”

She turns to Lassa. “You okay with him being on your ship dear?” she asks. 

Lassa grins. “I have a towing line that we can use. We’ll see how well he swims.”

Ahsoka matches her expression. “That’ll do. As long as you give him a pressure suit and keep him in the hyperdrive envelope. He might be mildly useful.”

Both ignore Gral’s laughter and Sorentin’s thunderous expression.

~=~=~=~=~=

Raisa Horan climbs towards consciousness. As she moves up, she wonders how she came to be unconscious. She had just left her office, bound for her quarters on another street. Quarters that she had been raised in on this benighted world.

She realizes that she cannot quite open her eyes. A pungent smell burns her nostrils.

Her clothing feels damp as more sensation moves into her mind. She attempts to touch her clothing, but her hands cannot move. She lifts her feet and hears a splash as she sets them down. 

They barely move. She tries to identify the sharp smell as if through a veil over her mind. Her eyes snap open and burn as she is able to identify it.

She looks down at the source of the smell of aviation fuel. She realizes that she is tied to a chair, sitting in several centimeters of the flammable substance. She looks up as she hears a throat clear. 

Her worst nightmare sits before her. An unlit cigar in his mouth. A bacta bandage on the side of his head.

Dav Kolan smirks. “Hello dear. Nice of you to take the same route home you always do.” His black eyes harden. “Let’s discuss the fact that every criminal scumbag not named Antol on Alderaan has gotten a terminal case of blaster fire, knife wound, or manual strangulation, since you were transferred here a couple of years ago.”

Her eyes widen at the next words. “Then we’ll work our way to why I have a lump on the side of my head.”


	15. Fear and Loathing On Several Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gambling, thieving, and manipulating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some portrayal of psychological manipulation of an ISB agent by another. Not too intense.

The figure surveys their handiwork. Their eyes narrow as they fall on the Imperial crewmembers lying on the deck of the _Gonzati_ -class armed transport. The wraith smiles behind the breathing mask as several snores sound from the supine and prone minions. The cloaked figures turns to the small safe in the secure cargo hold. A slight touch, an ear cocked to the sounds of the circuits popping in the sound amplifier, and the safe pops open. The thief smiles as their eyes light on the prizes. A small bag is placed on the deck.

The prizes tumble into the bag. Datacards with bounty that will take a great deal of time to sort through. The figure and only a select few will spend that time. The eyes crinkle in mirth. _Or perhaps their newest recruit will spend her time going through them. As penance for her past violence that she goes on and on about wanting to perform._

The thief’s dark blue eyes widen behind the mask as they fall on the other contents of the safe. Shining, small squares, all stacked in neat, symmetrical columns and rows. Items that the thief had not seen in years in any quantity. Five years to be exact. Stacks and stacks of actual Republic credits in various of the most precious metals in the galaxy. Items that had helped shore up the old order’s fiat and representative money systems. Not very successfully, from stories of the Banking Clan’s hoarding grasp over credit for both sides in the War.

The figure picks one of the squares up, runs their forefinger and thumb over the symbols etched into it. Symbols now worthless, as well as a passport for a trip to an extremely painful demise, as prescribed by the New Order.

The wraith closes those dark blue eyes for a moment. An onlooker, if they could see the eyes, would see the grief and pain in them for a brief instant. The thief shakes their head and looks around. The crew remain asleep.

The 500 credit piece is placed back on the stack. A small device is pulled from the belt and checked. A low hum from the scrambler ensures that any surveillance is inoperative.

The thief removes the hood, but keeps the breath mask in place. The hood falls to the thief’s shoulders, revealing raven’s wing hair marked with gray streaks. The young woman rubs her hand absently over her the smooth skin of her forehead over the mask, specifically in the center. Her fingers play over a place where a symbol once rested. A symbol of the first level of enlightenment among her people. Enlightenment that she no longer felt, ever since a night of blood and fire and pain, five years ago. A half-decade of running and hiding. Of loss. Her eyes tear briefly at the errant thoughts of her losses in her former life. Her eyes then narrow in resolve. She turns and walks to the airlock. Her trip only takes a brief instant. She allows herself a warm smile at the end of her destination.

A young girl, about four years old, looks up at her from her own important duties—namely wrestling with a tooka on the couch in the lounge of their small ship. The young woman matches the warm smile given to her. The smile is marked by a hint of devilment. A hint from another face. A beloved face that had once looked at her with love and care—traits that had not been bred into the owner of the face by arcane science. Traits that had been all his own. The wraith’s eyes fall on what the youngling and the cat are wrestling for.

A ratty stuffed bantha, made from old socks and bits of cloth, with a store-bought stuffed toy tooka head under the bits of yarn. Made with love from another of her past. A brief encounter on her homeworld. An encounter that had forced them to run once again.Through no fault of the other’s own, but of the madness and paranoia of yet another.

The young woman sighs and pulls off the mask. A young woman with many names. Lan Venn, a name adopted from the names of two beloved friends of her old life. Two friends, fellow learners in that life who had breathed their last in an arena on a desert world, early in the galaxy-wide conflagration.

Elle Jaquindo, once a knight in the great Jedi Order, but now one without that mystical connection that had marked those of that now-dead Order, turns to the communications console of the ship. She punches in a code sequence. A holo-symbol flashes above the projector. A symbol from the world of another friend—a friend most likely dead. A companion of hers and the two others.Like them, one who had been her first to share their bodies, as well as the hopes and fears of youth. Her eyes lock on the symbol. A pair of crossed blades from that world.

A masked voice flows from the speakers. “Hello, Myrddin. How did it go?”

She smiles before masking her own voice. “Much better than anticipated, Katana,” she says.

~=~=~=~=~=

Raisa Horan does not allow her fear to overcome her loathing of Dav Kolan, as he stands in front of her with an unlit cigar, while she sits in her bathtub, ostensibly filled with very rich aviation fuel. Very rich and very flammable fuel. Incongruously, her mind travels to logistical questions. _How the hell did he get this much AvFuel into my apartment?_

The look in his black eyes encourages her to think more of her immediate future. “What the hell do you want, Kolan? You don’t frighten me,” she asks. She is glad that her voice doesn’t quiver.

“Just want a nice friendly chat, dear,” he says. “As I said. I was just wondering, idly, why the hell all the homegrown Alderaani scumbags except for the Antols seemed to be having a plague of mysterious deaths by misadventure since you got here.” His grin widens. She sees him wince and touch the bandage on the side of his head. She paints a smirk on her face. A smirk that dies when his hard sable eyes fall on her.

“Laugh it up, my dear,” he says. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give a two shits about scumbags killing each other off. But when an Imperial officer is involved in choosing sides between said scumbags, I get a bit peevish.” He moves the cigar from his mouth. “Especially if the Director of ISB and Minister of Security is involved.”

Raisa feels her eyebrows rise at his words. “What the hell, Kolan?” she asks, knowing that her tone has a sharp indignant edge to it, even to her ears. “You think I have anything to do with Antol? Before this week, I had never laid eyes on her. I had never even heard her voice before she gets here and starts sticking her nose in my goddamned business as Station Chief.”

“Well, that’s very interesting, dear, given the timing. As well as your propensity for sticking your nose so far up a superior’s ass that it could be broken it they came to a sudden stop.” His eyes narrow. “Although, you never seemed to be kissing mine that much.”

“You weren’t worth my effort, Loth-rat. Everybody knows that you aren’t even ISB at your core. Just a jumped-up zoomie with a brain injury.” She sees his expression grow thunderous. “You’re not one of us.”

He idly pulls an igniter out of his pocket. She feels her skin grow cold. “I read your psych file, dear,” he says quietly, his expression calming. “Besides the obvious sociopathic tendencies of a good ISB agent, I know all of your fears.” His smile grows almost tender. “You have a fear of abandonment since you heard that your father walked out on your mother. You are always striving to please someone, for fear that you were the reason that he left. But more importantly, for this exercise, you have a fear of fire. Of burning to death. Think it comes from nearly falling into a fireplace. Don’t know. Those psych-probe droids are pretty thorough.”

“You son of a bitch,” she starts. She immediately calms. “I didn’t have anything to do with those scumbags. If you had read deeper, I did investigate and note the patterns. I turned over my findings with a recommendation that there might be problems to the locals.” She stops, her blood running cold.

She knows that he sees her expression. She quickly tries to form her features into a neutrality.

Her mind is anything but neutral. “What is it, Horan?” he asks sharply. “What do you know?”

“Nothing, Trigger,” she says. She turns away as much as her bonds will allow. She closes her eyes.

The sound of the igniter being activated and the flare of light behind her eyelids cuts through her mind. She smells the rich smoke of an expensive cigar. A cigar similar to ones that Kolan and his Corellian buddies had shared, just after the Zeltron version had blackened her eye in the course of a legal arrest.

An obstruction that had gone unpunished. She peels her eyes open. Kolan is watching her, gently puffing on the cigar. She notices he has replaced the igniter in his uniform pocket. He rubs his wound again.

“This cigar is not cheap,” he says. “I won’t waste it on you. You have until it burns down to answer all of my questions.”

What is left of Raisa Horan’s hardened heart sinks. She owes no loyalty to the connection that she had discovered long before that investigation.

To the man who had abandoned her. She makes her decision.

She takes a deep breath, releases it.

~=~=~=~=~=

Kolan walks away from the apartment building, his face troubled by what he has learned. That his assistant had not been involved, but had turned a blind eye to the corruption; not for reasons that most people do. He thinks of what she had told him. He tries to make sense of her story, of what it means to his investigation. He is no closer to finding any connection to Leeza Antol. He suspects that she is involved, but not directly. Not in the attacks on the diner, the corruption in PPS. Something nags at the back of his mind, but he cannot place what it is.

Not with his brain as fuzzy as it is.

He sighs. He had also come no closer to solving who had shot him. In fact, the only thing that he had done was probably solve Covenant’s cases for him. He is sure that the Corellian will do what he always does. Bantha his way into the middle of everything, under the guise of ‘doing good.’

Kolan sobers as he thinks of the secret that he holds for Covenant and the young Togruta that had affected his life. A secret that would be an automatic death sentence for them and anyone working with them.

A secret that is similar to the heart of the corruption and lying that Horan had just revealed to him.

He remembers as she finished the story. Of both of them sitting silent, he voluntarily, her less so. He had nodded. “Okay, Raisa. I’m leaving now. I have to get this information to Covenant and his merry band.” He had looked at her. “I don’t think that this will come out good for your newfound relative. I’m going to keep you out of it.”

Her eyes had widened through the remnants of tears. “But at some point, dear, you’re going to have to decide who you are going to lash yourself to,” he finishes in a soft voice.

He had grinned as her expression had grown blank, then thunderous. “You bastard. You tied me up and threatened to burn me to death and all you can do is spout platitudes? You…”

He held up his hand. “I didn’t burn you to death. I implied that this might be the outcome, but I never threatened you. You see, you were never in any danger.” He lifted his hand to his mouth and took the cigar out. With one flick, he had sent it flying towards her.

Right into the pan that she sat in. Her mouth opened to scream as she prepared to feel the heat.

A sizzling noise cut through her instant of terror. She opened one eye and then the other. Kolan smirked at her. She looked down.

The cigar was no longer burning. It was extinguished in the liquid that it rests in.

“But the smell…,” she started.

He had felt his grin grow wider. “Taggant. AvFuel is odorless. The taggant gives it the smell and lets you know what you are dealing with.”

Her eyes had grown fiery, where if there had been fuel, he would have ignited.

“Don’t worry, dear. It’s non-flammable and mostly non-toxic. I would keep hydrated, as its only side affect is that it makes you piss a great deal, if you have a a lot of contact with it.” His eye spark with amusement. “Of course, I think that you just discovered that.”

Her primal roar had followed him out of the room.

Kolan shakes his head at the memory, as he thinks about what the ISB has made him. He pulls his comm out and punches a code with only slight anger.

~=~=~=~=~=

The bureaucrat watches the panoply of screens, of hundreds of beings engaged in various pursuits of the flesh and of the gods of chance. Her eyes are on the debauchery of his station, but her mind is elsewhere.

Her mind is on a human in a cell in the depths of this pleasure-setting. A human caught cheating at sabacc. The Security Chief runs her hand over her ridged skull, stopping at the thick black ponytail at the top. If the human had been caught cheating against the ordinary players, he would’ve probably gotten off with a severe beating and a banning. She smiles at the security board. There are no uniform punishments on the Wheel. Her smile, which is only slightly less threatening than any other expression on her high-cheekboned face fades.

The young human didn’t cheat another human.

Her eyes lock on the holo of the prisoner. In any other case, she might be able to negotiate the severity of the punishment with certain prisoners. Especially prisoners as appealing as the human in the holo. She feels her pheremones spike. She shakes her head, cursing herself.

In this particular case, she would probably not get the chance to negotiate.

She would probably not want to negotiate with what was left after the Hutt got through with him.

The Chief moves her hand to the commpanel, to a particular code. She moves it away, shaking her head again. Her boss would give her good advice. But former Senator Simon Greyshade had not plucked her from the ruins of a Black Sun cell to call him for advice.

Especially where this particular Hutt is concerned.

Xita sighs. _Gardulla._

In some cultures, the female, is considered, however erroneously, the weaker of the genders.

Gardulla had certainly defied any convention about her chosen gender. Xita remembers the viciousness of the Hutt in her newer enclave on Nal Hutta. Viciousness against some of the Falleen’s comrades in the Syndicate.It had rivaled some of the examples that she herself had perpetuated on Gardulla’s Nikto and Rodians.

The door opens behind her. She turns. Lando Calrissian stands there, between two bulky guards. In spite of his disheveled appearance, in spite of his youth, he stands assured. Inwardly, she feels a burst of approval. Her eye-ridges rise as a smile plays over his handsome features. His dark eyes play over her body, from her bared midriff to her face.

“Hello, there,” he says smoothly.

Xita rolls her eyes.

_Not as smooth as he thinks._


	16. The Claws Run Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who really is the scoundrel? 
> 
> Shots fired at the Square.
> 
> Flames.

Gral Kruvure looks around him as he walks off of the public shuttle on the pleasure-palace. His normally fierce expression is as calm as it can be as he surveys the crowds milling around the gate.

He shakes his head at the _shak_ -like movement of the masses of sentience and droid. He turns and heads to his rendezvous point. Those same denizens that he has dismissed as beneath him try their best to avoid him. One look at his wide shoulders, his pissed-off expression, and his sharpened, dagger-like horns are enough to ensure that he has a wide berth of travel.

What would pass for a smile, if such an expression existed for him, crosses his face, as he sees his contact standing near Docking Bay 23.

As he moves slowly to engage in their part of this simple dance, he thinks about Sorentin Rhayme. A mercurial, sometimes angry and bitter man, who Gral has found to be one of the most loyal of partners—sometimes to the point that goes against good sense. A fierce fighter and intelligent strategist, who ensures that his family are taken care of.

Gral shakes his head. _At least his chosen family_. Gral has known Sorentin for nearly twenty years, has fought against him and with him, has been in jail and in the credits. He knows him better than anyone still breathing—even those who claim his heart, such as that Mando grifter, Tessika.

He has never seen a look on his face, as he did when seeing his partner look on his grown daughter for the first time. A look of pride, of love, of longing. Longing for his family; mixed look that Gral had never seen on his face before. A look of regret.

He shoves those thoughts out of his mind and moves towards Rhayme. As he does, he senses movement around him. Movement around his partner, as well. Gral tenses as he sees about a dozen security guards move into the docking area. He catches Rhayme’s eye. They nod and begin to move away from each other, rather than towards. The guards split into two detachments, each mirroring his and his partner’s movements. 

He immediately begins to search for escape routes, safe areas, and places where he can gain the advantage in a fight. He sees Rhayme copying his looks. As the guards close in, a thought comes to his mind. _I thought that damned Togruta witch was supposed to provide the diversion that would keep them away from us._

As if on cue, he looks up at the edge of the crowd. A tall figure, a scarf over her face, but otherwise clad in a revealing, almost distracting halter and skirt, stands watching them. He can see the Smirk grow in her eyes, to her entire face.

In a slow, deliberate movement, she reaches up with her right hand, extending her index finger.

And tapping the side of her nose.

The universal symbol of a con.

In spite of being suddenly buried by bodies, Gral smiles at the master. _She used us, the little witch._

~=~=~=~=~=

Nels Somar walks into his office. His eyes widen at the darkness. Only his desk lamp is lit, where he had left the main lights on when he had left. His hand strays to his side as he sees the dim figure sitting at his desk in shadow by the window. He relaxes a bit as he recognizes the silhouette of the new Director of Peace and Planetary Security, lit by the dim light from the window, as well as the small lamp.

He refuses to call the Corellian by the resurrected title from before his term. Or even by the rank of General—something that none of his employees were allowed to call him once he was able to consolidate the power of the two jobs into one.

He lowers his head. “So. You’ve decided to steal my office, as well, Director?” he says. He struggles to keep the contempt from his voice.

In the light of the lamp, he can just make out that the Corellian’s lips quirk up on one side. “Didn’t realize that it was yours, Colonel,” he says in that annoying drawl. “In fact, I think that I actually found the doorplate on your desk that says ‘Director’ on it. If I was a pretentious asshole like some, I would’ve started a pissing contest with you. But I actually haven’t had the time to sit on my ass in an office. I’ve been too busy trying to follow the trail and clean up the shit that you left me on the streets of Aldera.”

“We can’t always be heroes like you, Covenant,” Somar says. “Some of us just plod along.”

He sees his replacement shake his head. “Oh, Nels. If that were only true. You’ve been doing a lot more than plodding along. Pity that you couldn’t use all of that energy that you put into playing political games and trying to one-up the Viceroy and other Crown officials.”

Somar can feel the temperature drop in the Director’s voice. As he forms his retort, he sees a slight bit of movement in the area of the fireplace.He feels his hand move towards his side again. As it does, the main lights come up. 

Covenant’s apparent pet Peacekeeper, Boge M’Faru sits in an large leather chair. A chair that his overlarge body seems ready to burst out of its confines. 

Somar’s eyes track back to Covenant. “I am a busy man, Director. As much as I would love to stand here and glare at each other, I have things to do. So what do I owe the dubious pleasure of you and your musclehead’s company?”

A slow smile spreads over Covenant’s features. He remains quiet for several seconds, his eyes never leaving Somar’s face. Somar sneaks a look at M’Faru the younger. The thug's eyes are locked on his own with an expression very similar to a predator and his food.

Covenant stands up, the smile still fixed on his face. “I bring you greetings from your daughter, Nels. Not that she wants a family reunion or anything. She’d rather that you stop being an errand boy for the Antols. So that she can get back to her career of being your everyday ISB scumbag.”

Somar feels his expression burning. His hand twitches against his side again. It only twitches, as he sees that M’Faru and Covenant have both stood up, their coats away from their sidearms.

~=~=~=~=~=

Peacekeeper-Sergeant (Inspector II) Murta Locke sighs as he watches the diner for any signs of mayhem. Mayhem not caused by his new Peacekeeper-General or any of his allies. He smiles through his beard as he thinks of the changes that Covenant had brought. Positive changes. Changes that might keep Locke from leaving Alderaan, just as he had left other places before. He shifts his ass from where it leans against the wall of the apothecary across the street. He moves to and fro on his feet, trying to shift feeling to his extremities. He shakes his head. _For this you left Pamarthe,_ he thinks.

He dispels the thought. _You left Parmarthe because the woman you loved rejected and you and her brother wanted to kill you._

He closes his eyes for just an instant, thinking of her face. Of her crowing triumph when she beat him in the starfighter race. The instant is all that is needed. A blaster bolt strikes the wall near his head, sending his eyes open and brick chips into his face. He is able to recover, drawing his own blaster. It registers in his mind that the bolt’s noise was suppressed. Locke looks in the obvious direction that the bolt came from. 

The disgraced Peacekeeper, Darga Tine stands there, a smirk on his lips. The same smirk that Tine had on his face when he bested Locke in any test in the Academy. Tine turns and begins to run away. Without pause, Locke gives chase.

The street is quiet. 

A tall, urbane man with dark eyes walks into the light. He looks around. He smiles, but the expression looks strange on his face as only his skin and lips move, rather than his eyes or any of his bone structure. 

He pulls a large knife from the pocket of his expensive overcoat and walks towards the door of the diner.

~=~=~=~=~=

Covenant sees Somar relax his hand. The former Director smiles. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Covenant. I don’t have a daughter. My wife left me thirty years ago.”

Bryne smiles. “Not talking about your childhood sweetheart, Nels. Talking about that young woman that you abandoned a little after that.” He feels his expression darken. “When you discovered that she was pregnant. When you were about to become the Director.”

He watches Somar move slightly closer to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Boge send a text on his comm.

Somar stops, but turns away. “Who was she, Nels?” Boge asks. 

Covenant sees the Colonel’s eyes flash at the familiarity. He calms when he looks at Covenant. His colorless gray eyes track downward for a half-second. “She was no one. A mistake in a moment of feeling sorry for myself when I realized I was going no further than a Captain of Administration in PPS.”

“You’re such an asshole, Somar. She was a human being, no matter her status as ‘no one’ in your twisted sense of hierarchy,” M’Faru says, his anger palpable. Covenant sends a look towards him. Boge quiets, but his expression is still thunderous.

“Yeah, you were father of the year, Nels,” Covenant says. “You thought you were free and clear. Giving her a bit of money would quiet her. Making sure that she ‘took care’ of your problem.”

Somar is silent. 

“Imagine your surprise when ten years ago, she tells you that she didn’t get rid of the baby. But, you are not too worried about it. You are a respected member of the government. No one will worry about you having a bastard daughter. So you do what any self-respecting scumbag politician would do. You pay her off again. You make sure that the girl is taken care of financially.” Covenant stares at him for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “Of course this is not the end of it. In order to support her, you give the equivalent of your pension to her mother. Being the Director—a minister of the government now, you’re making quite a bit. Especially with some of your extracurricular activities.”

Somar starts to open his mouth, then closes it as Covenant continues. “You only have to worry about it five years ago, when the Empire took over and slaughtered the Jedi. When someone comes to you and points out that your daughter has the same name as a Jedi from Alderaan. One who died well before the purge.”

Bryne turns away. A memory stirs through his consciousness, as it had when Kolan had relayed this story. A memory of a self-satisfied Jedi standing before the Council as they expel his Padawan for a prank gone wrong. A tiny genius—a slicer who had come to the Jedi even later in years than his ‘little’ brother, a Corellian known then as Taliesin Croft. A slicer who was the closest thing to family to the current Peacekeeper-General of Alderaan. Phygus Baldrick. Known to Covenant as Touchstone. The self-satisfied master was an Alderaani named Horan.

He shakes his head at his own connection to the story. “Nobody knew that Horan had his own little secret. A secret daughter back home.” He purses his lips. “Even though the daughter had his name. Your little world was about to tumble down. The Empire could, at any time, start looking at any connection to the Order. Your carefully crafted little world would die, if they found out that your daughter was the granddaughter of a Jedi.”

He stops, taking a deep breath. “So, again, you did what any crooked cop and politician would do. You let the purveyor of that information, one of your Peacekeepers, a charmer named Darga Tine, direct you to do anything for his masters. Not only did you not want to lose your little job, you didn’t want to lose the connection to the ISB that your daughter, who was showing all the signs of the bourgeoning sociopathy that ISB prized in its up and coming agents. Your new masters apparently waited a few years, until darling Raisa was assigned here, to make their moves on the other scumbags.

“So tell me, Colonel,” he says. “How much pressure did Leeza Antol put on you to turn a blind eye to the murders of Alderaani citizens—even ones as they killed. Just like you got your daughter to turn away when you introduced yourself to her.”

For the first time, Somar smiles. “You have it wrong, Covenant. You, the Organas.” His eyes lock on Bryne’s. “Even Vorserrie and that Togruta who fell on my radar a few months ago. She and her little diner owner that you are apparently screwing now.” 

Covenant feels his eyes narrow at the mention of Ahsoka. His fingers tighten against the grip of his blaster.

“Leeza has nothing to do with this. Someone bigger than the family, as well as in the Empire and the galaxy.” Somar’s smile takes on a dark cast. “Someone that I fear even more than the Empire itself. Someone that you should. Someone who your girlfriends should fear.” His hand moves to his hip to the holstered blaster. It has cleared the holster and come up. Covenant yells to Boge. “No. He’s—“

The muzzle of the blaster crosses the plane of Covenant’s body. It starts to turn infinitesimally inward.

Just as a burst of light and noise sounds from the door to the office. Two holes appear in Somar’s chest.

Covenant and Boge look up at the door. A wide-eyed young uniformed Peacekeeper stands with a smoking blaster. He looks at the two. “I thought he was about to shoot you,” he says quietly. He turns away, his eyes tearing.

Covenant shakes his head. “No. I don’t think I was in any danger.” He turns and puts his hands against the desk.

He takes only a moment. He pulls his comm out, punching a button. He stares at the indicator. 

He turns to Boge. “Murta isn’t answering. He is supposed to be watching Meglann and the diner.” he says. Boge’s eyes widen.

They turn as one and rush from the room, leaving the PK standing in the door.

They don’t see the young uniform smile as they leave and he holsters his blaster. He composes his face as it was as other officers enter the room.

~=~=~=~=~=

Meglann Florlin walks along the streets of Alderaan, a smile on her face. A bag of groceries rests in her left arm. A bag containing the makings for a meal she has never tried to create before. A delicacy from a world of hunters and huntresses. A world important to at least three of her newfound family. One, a birthworld—one that she had left at an early age. Another, the world of a beloved teacher—a world where he had proven himself. To himself and others.

For the third, the world of that teacher. A woman who was a lover—indeed—the bond of the third—a young woman who in her brief exposure to Meglann had proven herself to be, as the other two called her—the most loving person in the universe. Meglann’s eyes tear as she thinks of how those three had accepted her. She shakes her head. Her mind goes to the preparation of the late meal. She only wishes that the huntress could be here with them to enjoy the meal. To see the joy on the face that she has seen a great deal of pain on since she had known her. The unabashed joy. The broad smile, the predator’s teeth exposed. A look that she had seen mainly when the hunter had been in their presence.

Meglann stops as she sees the diner. Her pride, her dream, facilitated by that same huntress, nurtured by lessons from the hunter. Her eyes widen as she sees the door open in the dim light. They widen, then roll. “Gort, dammit,” she exclaims.

She walks towards the door. As she walks into the dining area, her eyes further adjust to the light. She stops. _There is supposed to be security lighting_. She can only see dim light from the kitchen.

She places the bag on the counter and walks behind it, grabbing a frying pan as she does.

The pan drops from nerveless fingers as her eyes lock on the floor. “Gort!” she screams.

Gort lies in the middle of the floor. Blood spilling from his neck. She rushes over to his side, lifting his head up. She can see his neck tusks fluttering, his respirations growing shallow. 

She catches movement behind her. She realizes that her back is to the kitchen.

A flare of heat and light bathes her neck.

She only has an instant of realization as the kitchen explodes in flames behind her.


	17. A Dream Fails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath. A Protector receives a lesson in law and justice. Imperials forgo order, for their family.

Boge follows Covenant through the streets of the darkened city. The Peacekeeper shakes his head as he moves next to the _Mishleh_. He had not had to move his bulk at this speed, for this distance, since his days on the gridiron. He looks at his General’s face. A still-young face, marked by pain and worry at what they had learned. At what they were both hoping not to find. A face also marked by determination. Determination to protect—to protect the young woman and her dream.

Boge had seen the easy familiarity between the two. He wasn’t sure of what the dynamic was, but he could see the emotions between them. Despite the seriousness of their headlong rush across two districts, he smiles as he remembers an earlier fight. A fight to get this same man to a meeting in a roll-house. An ‘arrest’ made at the direction of the Queen of Alderaan.

He ruefully remembers the bruises from that arrest, as well as the shared looks on the faces of Covenant and the other party of the meeting, a tall young Togruta, whose power wrapped around her easily, like the loose cloak that she was wearing.

Boge did not have much experience in these matters, in spite of his reputation on the campus. But he can sense that there are two different dynamics at play among the three—he just can’t figure out what the hell they are. He starts as he hears his father’s voice in the earpiece, talking to the General.

“…I’m trying to muster some patrol units to respond to the diner. But we’re getting calls at every end of three Districts except the location of the diner.”

Boge can see the servos turning on Covenant’s face. “It’s obvious it’s a distraction, Sen. Re-deploy those units to Meglann’s place.”

“General, I can’t do that. We’re sworn to protect all of Alderaan’s citizens. Not just the ones that the Peacekeeper-General happens to be banging.” Boge raises his eyebrows. He checks his comm, sees that they are at least on a private frequency. He spots the telltale signs of the anger’s rise on Covenant’s face. “General,” he says, “He’s right. Our doctrine say we answer every call, as if it is an attack on the Queen.”

The well bursts. “Yes, but doesn’t your fucking doctrine tell you to fucking think? To look at patterns? If you get a goddamned shitload of calls everywhere—look at the fucking place you are _not_ getting them.”

There is silence on the comm. Idly, Boge is amazed, that in spite of the exertion, Covenant is not even breathing hard as he runs and talks at the same time. He runs his hand over his shaven head, as he thinks of how Somar’s controlling, doctrinaire nature—that of an administrator—had put them all in the same mindset. A mindset that has apparently crippled them.

He sees Covenant touch his comm, changing to a broadcast. “This is Covenant,” he says. “Re-deploy half of the units responding to calls and all droids to location on screen. Bring in units from other districts. All Organized Crime and Inspector units start bringing in any known Antol soldiers on sight. We’ll sort through the legalities later.” He pauses. “Major M’Faru of the University District is the Incident Commander.”

There is silence on the comm, until a sharp, high-pitched tone comes over the air. M’Faru’s calm voice follows it. “This is the IC. Redeployment plan on your screens. General,” he says, “there’s a report of a fire in the area of Meglann’s diner.”

As he says it, Boge and Bryne can feel heat and see light from in front of them. In spite of the run that they have already made, they increase speed.

_For a citizen of Alderaan._

~=~=~=~=~=

Leeza Antol walks into the ISB Headquarters. She waves the troopers and agents back to their work as they attempt to rise. She stops as she hears communications traffic on the local speaker. Communications traffic that includes her own family name. She walks over and listens. Covenant’s dry, calm voice comes over the air, instructing his officers to arrest any known Antol crime associates. Her eyes narrow. She can feel the eyes of the ISB workers on the back of her neck. She whirls around.

The minions find something else to do. She walks into that drone Horan’s office and sits at the desk. Her eyes are troubled as her mind tries to unravel exactly what in the hell is going on with her family on this world.

Ever since her older brothers had met their unfortunate demise—at her direction—she had felt like she was not in control, even though she was the dominant figure left, who was not in jail or the victim of a food-service accident. Her promotion in the ISB had not allowed her to take a more direct role in molding the remnants of the family to her will and her order. On a whim, she accesses the mainframe from Horan’s desk. She moves the search to Corellian news and official information outlets.

She curses when she finds a particular story. The story of a poor, injured criminal being released on compassionate grounds by the Imperial Advisor on that world.Something that the Ubiqtorate and others had seen fit not to inform her of. She looks down. _Or something I didn’t keep up with._

A criminal whose unfortunate injury had been brought about by a burlwood nightstick’s impact on his jaw. She cross references the holo and information of her brother’s apparent humanitarian release with Alderaani databases. Her hand moves to her chin with a sharp intake of breath as she sees the result. She sits in front of the screen digesting her failure to pay attention. Leeza recalls Lardai’s early information about someone using the Malaky name for new transmissions.Something she thought that she did have control over.

Further cross-referencing and manipulation of bytes and bits reveals no connection between the two.She picks up her comm and sends a text to Lardai. Leeza watches the cursor blink on the message. Finally, a string of Aurabesh text flows over her screen.

Leeza Antol, Imperial Minister for State Security, and Director of the organization that is its sword and shield, stares at the text. A perplexed expression flows across her features. She rises and turns towards the exit, sending another text as she does.

+=+=+=+=+=

Covenant increases speed as he sees the diner come into view. He can see the smoke billowing from the restaurant. Behind him, he vaguely hears Boge yelling at him to stop, as the world comes into sharp focus, shrinking to a pinpoint in front of his eyes. He takes a deep breath, charging through the open door. The emergency lighting has kicked on, illuminating the once-bright and airy dining room with a hellish glow. His heart sinks.

He opens himself to the Force, straining to make the connection to his newly fair-weather friend. _Nothing. Not even a spark_. He hears a faint noise from the kitchen. He jumps the counter. He is conscious of Boge cursing as he climbs over.

The wave of heat hits him. The range area’s auto-extinguishers are working on it, but the prep and storage areas are engulfed. As his eyes adjust, Covenant sees a thin figure against the backdrop of flames. He runs over to her. His lungs burn as he approaches Meglann. She is fighting to drag Gort’s figure away from the flames, to safety. He knows he has little time to attempt to touch the Force again. He seizes her and pulls her away from Gort. She pounds his chest, fighting him.

“We’ll get him, sweetie,” he yells, fighting to make himself heard. He sees Boge crouch down next to the cook. Their eyes meet for a moment. Boge shakes his head, but heaves the Nikto over his shoulder and begins to move out.

Covenant seizes Meglann and half-carries, half-drags her from the kitchen. He sees her turn for an instant and look at the diner. He steels himself and pulls her away. As they reach the street, they see vehicles arriving with the seal of the DPPS on them. Four police droids bound into the diner. The sounds of extinguishers cut through the hollowness.

Meglann stumbles and collapses against him for a moment. He holds her tight, his lips against her hair. She had always had her own distinctive scent—a hint of vanilla and soap, leavened occasionally with a tiny bit of breakfast food. She only smells of smoke. His eyes close as he detects another odor.

The smell of death.

Meglann pushes him away and runs over to where Boge has laid Gort. She takes his head in his arms as she tries to put pressure on the grievous wound.

Covenant watches as another figure walk up to the two. Sen M’Faru glances at his son, sitting on the curb, refusing the oxygen offered by a medical droid. He sees the elder man’s face soften. M’Faru takes a deep breath, just before he drops down beside Meglann. He places his hands over Gort’s eyes, closing them.

Meglann begins to sob. Sen takes her hand in his and holds it tight. He looks towards the sound of running feet. Murta Locke slides to a stop, his blaster still in his hand. His face is filled with horror as he looks at Gort and Meglann.

“Where were you?” Covenant asks quietly.

Murta doesn’t immediately reply as he stares at Meglann’s sobbing form.

“Murta,” Covenant repeats.

The Pamarthen holsters his blaster and takes a deep breath. “Darga Tine showed up. He and some Antols opened up on me. I went after them.” He closes his eyes.

Boge walks up to him, gently taking his shoulders. Murta angrily shakes him off. He drops next to Meglann. He tries to put his hand on her shoulders, but stops at her vacant expression. Murta’s face crumples. He stands and walks away.

Boge starts to go after him, but his father stops him. Boge nods. They both turn to Meglann.  
Covenant has her in his arms, rocking her gently.

His eyes are haunted as he stares at the flames helplessly.

+=+=+=+=+=

Cantos Lardai steps out of the shadows of the alley on the outskirts of the Palace District. She watches as Leeza Antol motions to her protection detail to form a watch just outside the entrance of the alleyway. The Deathtroopers turn their backs to her.

Both women hear the wails of sirens and horns from two districts over.

Leeza walks up to her and embraces her smaller frame. “So you followed the crooked Peacekeeper to the diner?” she asks.

“Yeah, Leez,” Lardai says. “He drew the PK away. A man walked into the diner. The little girl that runs it came in with groceries. The fancy type walked out, that is when the fire broke out. Then the head PK and his pet musclehead came. The world came a few minutes later.”

Leeza is silent. Cant forges ahead. “I have been listening to their freqs. Your chief cop with the nice eyes and ass has started, as they say, ‘busting heads.’ They are arresting suspected Antol soldiers left and right.”

Leeza’s dark eyes flash, then calm. “Guess I am not much good as the Antol’icha,” she says ruefully.

Cant touches her cheek.“All due respect, Director, but you are full of shit. I gave you my oath. Something big is fighting you. I that it’s the same person who is playing silly buggers with our Malaky cover, I think that is where we need to get to. We might not start with them, but I think the roads will lead there.”

Leeza nods, then puts her hand over the commando’s. “You have a description of the Fancypants, who is careless with matches?”

“Even better.” She brings her rifle up, allowing Leeza to look into the screen of the scope. Leeza sighs as she sees the figure, her lips straightening in a tight line.

Cant’s eyebrows rise. “You know him?” she asks.

“I should. He and his twin tormented me every chance they got as a child.” She looks at Cant. “That’s my brother Jad. The Corellian underboss.”

Cant digests this. “What do you want to do?”

Leeza doesn’t hesitate. “Find him. End him. Tell the remaining soldiers to get to the Revenue Cutters. The cops won’t dare go looking for them there.”

“I guess we have proven that Operation Windfall won’t work on a Core World. Just like we couldn’t even try it on Zeltros in the Mid-rim,” Lardai says.

Leeza shakes her head. “No. We couldn’t subvert the economy when someone beat us to consolidating the criminal power, by killing all the rival gangs. I’m thinking that whoever it was, intended to either subvert our soldiers or either target them next for slaughter.” She looks at Cant, her eyes hard. “I don’t think Jad was smart enough for this. Somebody else is pulling the strings.”

She reaches over and kisses Cant on the cheek. “Go. Find my brother. End him. I wish that you could do it slowly, but no matter. Just end him.”

Lardai salutes. Leeza nods and turns away.

Lardai stands, watching where Antol had left. She thinks about how much longer she will have to endure this, for family loyalty.

She turns and walks away.

Dav Kolan’s own eyes are hard as he watches the two women leave from his vantage point on the roof. He sighs and begins to climb down, fighting the vertigo from his head wound.

+=+=+=+=+=

Sen M’Faru walks into the ruins of Meglann’s dreams. His eyes lock on the figure of Bryne Covenant, standing in the door of the ruined kitchen.

The fire had been contained to the kitchen; only smoke and heat had reached the dining area. As the sun comes up, he smiles as he sees the dining room take on a lighter, more open quality with the light.

His smile dies as he thinks of the young woman who had finally left in a medical transport, to tend to the light burns and smoke inhalation she had suffered. She had refused to leave until Gort was taken care of. Walking with his body to the transport. Her clothing and skin covered with his blood.

He walks up to Covenant. The Mishleh’s eyes are locked on the smoking ruin of the range. M’Faru grits his teeth. There is no doubt in his mind that Covenant is weighing his own culpability in this.

He has the same look in his eyes that Murta Locke has. He shakes his head. “General,” he says quietly. Covenant doesn’t move. “Covenant,” M’Faru says again, this time, more forcefully.

“What?” the Corellian says sharply, not turning.

M’Faru reaches over and pulls him around to face him. Covenant’s eyes flash as he makes to turn around, jerking out of Sen’s grip.

M’Faru doesn’t let him. “Bryne,” he says, more gently. “I know you feel that you’re responsible for this. I don’t know if you are. But we need you to lead us. You were the only one not tainted with Somar’s stench who could see clearly. Meglann might’ve been dead as well if you hadn’t.”

Covenant doesn’t respond. M’Faru falls back to the work. “We confirmed it. No one else was here. Tasera, the other waitress was off. The cook, according to Meglann, hasn’t been here in a couple of days.”

Bryne looks up at that. His green eyes flash fire. “Arrest them. Find them and lock them up. We’ll sort through—,”

“The legalities. Yeah, I know,” M’Faru says. “Wouldn’t want basic civil rights to get in the way of Bryne Covenant’s righteous anger.”

Covenant stares at him. “You have something to say, Major? Go ahead and say it,” he says, his voice icy.

“It seems like you are finding it easy to throw ‘lock them up’ around in the last hour or so,” Sen say, the temperature of his own voice rising. “I’m not too concerned about Antols. They’ve made their beds. They bear certain marks on their bodies that identify them as soldiers and family. We can maybe get Conspiracy I on them. But I think you’re getting too comfortable with throwing those words around.”

“We’re talking about murder, M’Faru. Murder and threats to this world. I don’t have time to coddle these bastards. I did swear an oath that I would protect your world.”

“I swore that same oath. I swore it when you weren’t even your daddy’s little squirt. You’re right. This is my world. It’s not some place I can just leave when the going gets tough.”

Covenant looks away, but Sen can see the pain replacing the anger in his eyes.

He does not let up, but softens his tone. “I am a Peacekeeper, sworn to uphold the law. I thought that I was serving a man, for the first time in years, that had the same passion for the law. For protection of everyone. Not some goddamned bureaucrat or petty dictator, who thought to only protect those who could protect his little empire.” He can see Covenant’s anger fluctuating. _Can feel it, as well_. He forges ahead. He pulls his shield from his chest and throws it on the ground. “Apparently, I am a shitty judge of character.”

Both men are silent as their anger builds. And falls.

A muttered _ahem_ behind them centers them. “If you two can possibly put the pissing contest and the dramatic resignations on hold, I have some news.”

They both turn and face Boge. “We’ve gotten word from a Peacekeeper who has spotted the cook. She had been tracking him on a hunch. Must’ve paid off, cause he’s meeting a certain scumbag ex-cop of our acquaintance at a warehouse.”

Sen and Bryne look at one another. Sen tries to keep the smile off of his face at the mention of the pronoun of the Peacekeeper. He nods.

Bryne touches his arm. “I’m sorry, Sen, that I’ve lost your trust. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a cop. Not after all that has happened in the last few years.” He reaches down and picks up the credentials from the floor. He replaces the plaque on Sen’s chest.

M’Faru smiles. “I think that there are few better to do what you are doing, General. And I did some research. I know what your name means to the Corellians.” He smirks. “And to the Togruta.”

Covenant rolls his eyes at the last.

Boge speaks up. “Wow. I’m getting almost dewy-eyed here. Such feels.”

“Is he always like this, Dad?” Covenant asks.

“Yeah. Probably why he couldn’t run for shit when he was playing. Too busy thinking up smartass comments.” Sen looks away. He sees Covenant’s smile.

Try as he might, Major Sen M’Faru cannot keep the look of love and pride off of his features.


	18. Different Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meglann makes a decision. Covenant starts to realize who is who in the whole conspiracy. At least a tiny bit.

Meglann Florlin starts awake, her eyes adjusting to the light as she realizes she is no longer in the throes of her nightmare. Visions of Gort’s staring eyes pursuing her through flames no longer repeat in her mind. Her hand slaps at the light controls on her medcenter bed. A sharp pain reminds her more forcefully of the night’s horrors than any nightmare. She stares at the thin bandages on her forearms and hands; covering the burns that she had spent several hours in bacta for. As she takes a deep breath, another reminder cuts through her chest, from the smoke of her diner. The pain is less intense than it had been.

The physical wounds are healing.

She lets her head fall back to the pillow. Her eyes lock on the ceiling as she tries to push Gort’s eyes from her mind, as he choked out his life while she helplessly tried to pull him from the flames.

She and Gort had never had the warmest of relationships, his crusty, biting sarcasm a bit much for her to take. _Or not reply in kind with_. But he had stayed with her when she had bought the diner, when she had given him the option—actually hoped that he would take the option, given his cooking skills—to leave with the previous owner.

He had merely grunted and turned back to cooking. She closes her eyes against the tears welling as she remembers the times he had been there when a late-night weekend crowd had gotten rowdy. Merely his menacing presence and the butcher’s cleaver that he wielded threateningly had quelled many a fight. In one instance, without a word, he had broken the fingers of a patron who had grabbed her ass. All while rolling his eyes afterward when she tried to thank him. Her tears flow freely as she realizes that she is his only family. He had never bonded, had no brothers or sisters. He was her responsibility. She had failed him.

Meglann curses and wipes her tears. Her mind flies to Ahsoka, out among the stars, fighting for hope. Fighting for the dreams of others, that are now wrapped in darkness. Fighting while knowing that she might not live to see those dreams realized. She sees Ahsoka or Covenant mourning the other, when one or the other doesn’t come back for that fight. She sees Covenant’s pain as he left the remnants of her own dream. Knowing in her heart of hearts that he blames himself, as much as she blames herself for Gort’s death.

Meglann has seen a tiny bit of what they are fighting against. A tiny bit of the darkness nurtured by a greater evil. She wipes her tears. She has already thought of her future. She doesn’t see herself sitting in a classroom, or being an accountant as her last course of study had directed her. 

She can’t see herself owning a restaurant anymore either. At least not until the darkness recedes. Meglann makes her decision. She is able to stand from the bed with only a little swaying and dizziness. She walks over to her clothing, resting in the visitor’s chair. She pulls the underwear and trousers on, as well as her worn work boots. 

Her outer shirt, she casts aside, as it is covered with Gort’s blood. She picks up the tank top that she had been wearing under it. The tank, like her trousers and underwear, had been laundered as her body rested in bacta. She smiles gently as she sees the logo. The logo of a certain Mandalorian deathmetal band. A garment that she had once loaned to a huntress, through a hunter, so that she could escape this very medcenter. The hospital tunic, reversed, completes her ensemble. She looks towards the door. She knows that the Peacekeeper will not let her get away, not after she had unknowingly slipped away from the bearded officer so stricken at the diner.

She moves to the window. After a struggle, with only minimal pain and a smashed thumb, she manages to open it. She takes a deep breath, quelling the gorge rising. _It had to be the third floor_. Since she had been a child, she had feared heights—hard to believe, given the occupation of the one parent that she knows of. She shakes her head. Meglann is sure that Ahsoka and Covenant have their fears, but have overcome them to do what they do. She just can’t think of what those fears might be. She gingerly climbs out on to the small ledge. Her heart stops as she slips. 

She steadies herself and reaches the drainpipe. She pulls on it to test its strength. She knows her thin form doesn’t weigh much, but it might weigh enough to send her screaming to the ground.

It holds. 

As she walks away from the medcenter, she is not sure of how she will get there, but she is sure of the destination. A destination where she is helping those who have been affected by the darkness. Her mind’s eye flies to an argument with her uncle; the man who had raised her from the time she was ten years old. One of many over the last few years as she tried to find her path. _You’re just like your mother and probably your father_. Maybe she could find out what that last phrase meant—finding the missing parts of the path behind her, as well as the path before. Her vow is that she will not burden Ahsoka and Covenant while doing it. They have enough a burden, with each other. 

In the medcenter room, an apron sits abandoned on the chair.

+=+=+=+=+=

Bryne Covenant moves through the morning light. He holds his DC-15S, an old friend from his past, as he leads the two M’Farus and Murta Locke in a covering advance to a certain point in the Upper Warehouse District.

He tries not to think of Meglann, lying in a medcenter bed, her dream destroyed. Destroyed because he couldn’t see that his opponents would carry through with harming an innocent. Either that or he was too focused on the big picture.

He stops short as a figure steps out from an alley. He brings his carbine up, but stops. A tall young woman stands in front of him. A young woman that he has seen before. Dropping a platter in a light, airy diner, a lifetime ago. His first day on the job. His eyes widen as he sees the blaster on her hip. He brings the carbine up. 

He feels a very large hand on his upper arm. He stares at her face. A bright smile widens on her dark features. Features that suddenly look familiar. He looks again at her belt, at the binders on the opposite side of the blaster; the plain silver plaque with the seal of Alderaan on her belt. No pips of officer rank or hint of gold of Inspector-skill.

He lowers his blaster. He turns to the M’Farus. The older one grins at him. “General Covenant, meet Peacekeeper Tasera M’Faru.” His eyes soften with their pride. “The family calls her Tika, because somebody couldn’t pronounce Tasera when he was a much smaller snotnose.” He looks at Boge, who rolls his eyes.

Covenant stares at both of them. His eyes narrow. “Great. Another one,” he says. “So you knew about this and didn’t tell me?”

“Well, Boge knows her, of course, but didn’t know she was undercover, exactly. He managed to actually keep his mouth shut at your breakfast party,” Sen starts. “I really couldn’t tell you, General. Somebody that I am more scared of than you assigned her to watch Meglann, after the problems started.”

Bryne closes his eyes. He recalls those words a few months ago. Words referring to the Queen of Alderaan. He looks at them all. He nods. “What do you know, Peacekeeper?” he asks.

She nods at him. “Saw the cook, Fazikton Dep, go into that old abandoned office building over there. Your crooked cop goes in after him.” She points at a one-story building next to the higher examples. “Next thing, I see some fancy-pants lawyer type go in after them.”

“How come you were following him?” he asks quietly. 

She holds his look. “Because he started acting kind of shifty in the last day or so. I can’t explain it. Just had a feeling.” She breaks his gaze and looks down. “If I had stayed there—,”

“No.” Covenant says. “If you’d stayed there, you might be dead. We wouldn’t have this lead.” He feels a sad smile come to his face. “There’s enough blame to go around elsewhere. Mostly in the person talking to you. Can you describe him?”

“Better yet. I got a holo of him.” She pulls her comm out.

Bryne and Sen look at each other over the holo. “Stark. The lawyer who threatened me.”

“Yep,” is all Sen says. 

Covenant’s skin goes cold as he looks at the holo. “Something—,” he says. He pulls his comm out, punching in a number by heart.

A woman’s face appears above his comm. Her dark purple eyes light up and a smile flows to her crimson features. “Hey, stud, how’s it going?” He can feel the eyes popping behind him. 

“Not bad, Dani. How’s being a mom?”

She rolls her eyes. “Lot easier than wrangling you, Bryne. What’s up?”

He connects Tika’s comm to his. “You see anybody familiar?”

Her eyes harden, and transition to a deep black shade, with an accompanying darker red flush. “Yeah. Little different. Might’ve had some work done, but I would know that asshole anywhere. Seeing how he gave me my first-ever knife wound. That’s Jad Antol.”

“How come he ain’t still locked up on Corellia?” 

Dani looks away. “Because a certain Imp witch freed him, on ‘humanitarian grounds’, since his jaw wasn’t healing very well. Even paid for an expensive medical prosthesis to help him talk.”

After a moment, he nods. “I gotta go, Dani. Hope I can give you some good news about him in a bit.”

She smiles, the expression warming everyone watching. “Be careful. I heard about Meglann’s place. Don’t go taking all of the blame on yourself, Chief Ranger. Leave some for the assholes who actually did it.” She blows him a kiss and signs off.

Covenant can feel the eyes of the others on him. “What?” he asks .

“Oh nothing,” Boge says. “Just wondering how you actually have time to be a General, between her, that woman who didn’t exist a couple of months ago in the roll-house, and Meglann.” He grins. “She sure has your number, bud, about self-blame.”

Covenant sighs as his face grows hot and Tika giggles. “Can we actually think about what is about to happen? How soon for backup?”

“Well, as I told you, your little round-up of scumbags has taken up most of our personnel. We may be waiting awhile,” Sen says.

“Okay. So let’s get a plan.”

He stops as the distinctive sounds of blasterfire comes from the building.

“How about we just go in with guns blazing and get the bad guys?” Tika says.

_Out of the mouths of Peacekeepers_ , Covenant thinks, as they start running. “Take ‘em alive, if you can. It’s their choice, but I need to get to the bottom of this,” he says as they move out.

+=+=+=+=+=

Dav Kolan kicks open the back door to the room from where he heard the shots. Two bodies lie on the floor, blaster bolts to their chests and foreheads. Their own blasters lie on the ground next to them. He sees a door moving across the room. He manages to crab sideways as a bolt strikes the shattered door behind him. Kolan sends three blaster bolts of his own towards the offending door. He is able to just make out a shadowy figure running down the corridor.

Dav starts to run after the figure, but he can hear Covenant and his people make entry into the building. He smirks as he hears the loud crash of a flash-bang grenade go off at the entryway. He doesn’t have a great deal of time.

Dav crouches down by the bodies. He recognizes the disgraced Peacekeeper, Darga Tine. He quickly goes through the cop’s pockets. His hand closes on a small metallic square. He pulls it out, is about to discard the single Imperial credit, when his thumb rubs over a strange imprint on the rear. He turns it over. His mind dumps as he sees the imprint. “Goddamnit,” he says simply. The tiny symbol is the confirmation of what he has feared since he started working on these last two cases. The fear that everything he has known for over a dozen years, for most of his adult life, has been wrong. He pockets the credit and moves to the other corpse. Supposedly the diner owner’s new cook, but there is something about him. It doesn’t take him long to identify the cook. An ISB code cylinder with Headquarters markings comes out of the dead man’s pocket.

He rubs his head to try to stop the pain. Pain that may not just be the result of his head wound. His mind goes to a bearded face close to his. A face who implored him to abandon his life in the New Order. 

It may be time.

He hears the Alderaani growing closer. He makes his decision; draws his blaster and fires in the direction of the approaching footsteps. He hears them stop, then change direction as he hears more blasterfire from a different direction. Dav turns and moves to the fire exit chute on the opposite side of the building.

Covenant will have to handle the criminals on Alderaan. Dav Kolan is more concerned with criminals at the height of power.

+=+=+=+=+=

Boge dodges left as his younger sister dodges right as blaster bolts comes from two direction, through thin walls. 

“No! Both of you go left!” Covenant shouts. “I’m heading right. There is only one going that way. The one that matters.”

Boge spares his sister a glance. _How the hell did he know that_? her look asks.

He shakes his own question off as he bulls through his father and Murta, taking point. He bursts through the last room, stopping at the two bodies lying on the floor. He gives them a quick once over, confirming that they are both dead. He recognizes the scumbag cop, but the other is a mystery. But not apparently, to his sister.

“That’s the cook,” she says. She crouches next to the dead Chalactan. Her eyes widen as she sees an object laying on the body. She picks it up, hands it to Boge.

Sen and Murta come up, both panting and bent from the exertion. Sen’s eyes lock on the object. 

“An ISB code cylinder,” he says. Boge eyes both corpses. He points at their rifled pockets. 

“Stay here,” he says to Sen and Murta. “Come on, sis. Let’s go back Covenant up.”

As they run from the room, Boge hears their father say. “We might be too old for this shit, Murta.” 

Murta Locke’s reply is lost as they run out on the street, just in time to see Covenant leap from the ground in the morning sunlight and land on the roof of the four-story building next to the office complex. 

Tika’s eyes widen as she turns to him. “What—?” she starts. 

He shakes his head. “I didn’t see anything, Tika,” he says, locking his eyes on hers.

After a moment, she nods. “Okay, Tank. I trust you. But the people I worked for—,”

“You don’t work for them anymore, Tika. You work for Alderaan and your family.”

She looks down. “I’m sorry. I am trying to forget.” She looks up at him. “For the Mother and family.”

He smiles and reaches over to kiss her on the cheek. “For the Mother and family,” he repeats.

Boge looks up, sees his father looking at them through the window. His eyes are troubled as he nods at his son and daughter.

+=+=+=+=+=

Covenant allows the moment of exhilaration to fill his senses as he lands on the roof. A bright blue-orange light flashes in his senses. _Not bad, Bait_ , it says. He shakes his head. _Wish I could talk, Runt_ , he says to the light. _Miss you_ , he adds. He sees Jad running ahead of him.

He can tell that the older man is flagging. Covenant jinks to the right as a bolt comes his way. 

“Marvelous,” he whispers to himself. “Why the hell couldn’t you work when I needed you at Meglann’s?” The light is silent.

Jad tries to jump to the parapet for a leap to the next building. His toe catches on the lip and he tumbles rather than leaps. He manages to snag the lip of the other building. He screams as something snaps in his left shoulder.

Covenant refrains from using the Force—he clears both parapets with ease. He turns and looks down at the criminal. “Hello, Jad. You said something about somebody losing a finger? Is it possible that the last thing going though your mind is about to be your asshole?”

“Help me up, Covenant. You won’t let me die.” As Dani had noted, his voice has a mechanical inflection. It had sounded odd during his threatening session with Covenant, but he couldn’t put his finger on the cause.

“I don’t know, Jad, old boy. Seems like you’ve been trying to kill my family for a good number of years.” He grins. “I bring the greetings of Dani Faygan and Draq’ Bel Iblis.”

“Ah, yes. The Zeltron bit. Would’ve like to get to know her better. Maybe with something other than my knife.” The flat mechanical voice takes on a sinister quality. 

“Yeah, Jad. That is the way not to wind up as a pile of goo on the street. Threaten my family members. Particularly one that since that little incident, never travels with less than four knives—just in case she has the opportunity to cut the balls off of Antol scumbags.”

“Come on, Covenant. Help me up.”

“No. I think that I may wait. I’d like you to sweat some more. Maybe you’ll be more willing to incriminate your baby sister.”

“Leeza? That murderous little Imperial brat? Don’t make me laugh,” Jad says, in spite of the strain. “I work for someone with greater vision. Someone who will help me wrest back control of my family from her.”

“So who do you work for?”

“Pull me up and I’ll tell you. But only if you save me from falling.” His eyes grow even more dangerous. “Besides. I saw your little jump there. You’re in a bind. Save me and risk being exposed as a Jedi. Let me drop and you betray everything you stand for.”

Bryne remains silent as he looks down at Antol. He watches the fingers move closer to the edge. The blue-orange presence in his head grows again. It says nothing. The presence doesn’t have to. 

He reaches down and seizes the criminal’s wrist. He lifts him up. The Antol smirks as he lands on his feet next to Covenant. “Ah. Yes. The money that Corellia will pay me for my silence will be that much sweeter. Maybe I will demand a night with your cousin—.” He stops, as Covenant gently taps his index finger on Jad’s jaw. 

Jad begins to gasp for breath. He quickly recovers his breath, but his voice makes no sound.

Covenant smiles as he lets the vision of a small mechanical device fade from his mind’s eye. “More than one way to silence you, Jad. Especially when you depend on a mechanical doodad to speak.”

Jad makes a writing motion. Bryne looks at his fingers. “Yeah. I know. But don’t tempt me.” The threat is clear. “But, you could also write down your boss’s name. Or maybe,” he says with a smirk, “I’ll just let it be known that you’ve already written the name down. Then maybe turn you out on the street with a handshake and a small reward.”

Jad’s eyes widen in terror. He begins to shake his head violently. 

“That is what I thought,” Covenant says.

He seizes the criminal’s shoulder. As he does, he feels Jad recoil. The criminal falls to the roof as if poleaxed. 

Covenant scans the tops of the buildings, trying simultaneously pick up any hint of movement with his eyes and touch the Force, but feels nothing. He slumps to his knees next to the dead criminal. Jad’s eyes stare at him accusingly under the smoking hole in his forehead.

+=+=+=+=+=

The figure lowers the E-11 blaster carbine. He smiles at the dead target. He debates whether or not to send a bolt into the head of the Peacekeeper-General. 

That would exceed his orders. He turns away. If Covenant or any of his officers were present, they would recognize him. They had last seen him in a Peacekeeper’s uniform, crying as he lowers his smoking blaster after killing the former Director of Peace and Planetary Security.

Ensign Mal Adede, Imperial Navy, smiles.

+=+=+=+=+=

Commander Cantos Lardai scans the rooftops as she sees the brother of her _Antol’icha_ fall. 

“Well, dammit,” she says softly. She looks through her scope at the Corellian. She wonders how much trouble she would be in if she caressed the trigger of the rifle. Cant smiles as she remembers watching his moves. She had only seen him on the roof, but his skill was apparent. She lowers the rifle. _It would be like destroying a work of art_. She would rather kill him with her knife, staring into his eyes as they dim.

_I think I am done here_ , she thinks. Lardai thinks of her father; her brief memory of his smiling face, just before he left to go home to Naboo. The last time she had seen him.


	19. The Imperial March of Mediocrity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Storm-King, Trigger, and Fulcrum each dig deeper.

Leeza Antol sits in the small cabin of a Revenue cutter, listening to Cantos Lardai’s description of what had transpired in the Warehouse district.

“….Jad is dead. I couldn’t see who shot him. That Corellian was standing there, taking him in to custody. He pulled him up from hanging by his fingertips. I could see that they were talking.” She stops. Her face on the screen looks away from the pickup. “I didn’t kill the cop. I didn’t think we needed another death of someone as important as him so close to Jad.”

Leeza remains silent for a moment. “I think that you did the right thing, Cant. We’ll need to keep an eye on him. He may be trouble down the road,” she says quietly.

Cant’s eyes lock with hers. “I don’t know if you are grasping this, Director. The Alderaani have rounded up all of the remaining Antol soldiers. It is only a matter of time before one spills about you and I. One of the few that might be in the know.”

Leeza smiles dangerously. “They may only spill about you, Cant. They just know that I have the same name. I have made a point to stay away from them.”

Cant’s eyes flash at the implication. Leeza holds her hand up. “No, dear. We can’t be fighting. We’ll need each other.” Her face grows cold. “I know your loyalty. Only about two dozen soldiers made it to the Revenue cutters. I am hoping that since they survived arrest, that they are the best of the best.”

She sees Lardai nod. “Besides,” Leeza starts. “I’m out of a job. I just received word, after the fact. My tenure as ISB Director was apparently only an interim one. I’m being returned to my previous job as Deputy for Special Projects. ISB and Intelligence is being more closely ‘aligned’, as they say.” She tamps down her anger. “Isard will be Minister of State Security. Yularen will be his principle deputy for security.”

“I’m sorry, Leez,” Cant says.

“There is good news. Operation Windfall has not been decommissioned. It will continue under my auspices. So you’ll continue working directly for me.”

Cant smiles. “What’s next, Colonel?”

“I’m being assigned to some special project of the Emperor. Find someone among the Family you can trust to help you. You and our ‘special operatives’ will be in charge of economically destabilizing those worlds disloyal to the Emperor.” She grins. “Of course, whatever finds its way into our own coffers, for our ‘expenses’ would not come amiss.”

The commando officer nods.

Leeza grows thoughtful. She looks up at Lardai. “I think that I have an idea. Maybe we went to the wrong Core world. I’m supposed to help find labor for this project. Ganthel is the one Core world that has a form of indentured servitude. They have a position for an Imperial-Advisor Regent, since the old Chieftain is showing some signs of intransigence. The previous Advisor has been deemed to be ineffective, in the eyes of the Emperor. I may be able to combine the two projects—Windfall and this whatever-it-is of the Emperor.

“The first thing, is, for you, is that you should find out who the hell Malikarus is and end them. The ISB station chief, Horan, will help you. She is an idiot, but might be loyal.”

“It will be done, Colonel Antol.”

Leeza grows quiet. “We have to be careful, Cant. The Antols are a thing of the past. I think that it might be time for a name change for me.” She smiles mischievously. “Will you marry me?”

Cantos Lardai’s eyes widen, then roll. “You just want me for my ancient name.” The look on her face changes to her own of dark mischief. “An ancient name, but not exactly an honorable one. Might just get you hanged as a water or Bantha thief on my world. Are there any perks to this?”

“Well, I’ve been told I’m pretty good in the sack.”

“Let me guess. By junior officers who don’t know any better, or could criticize your techniques.” She grins, an expression that is only just this side of malevolent. “Okay. Just as long as I still get my bits on the side.”

“We’ll see. Especially if you bore me,” Leeza replies.

As their laughter grows, a respite from their dark work, Leeza’s mind is still focused on the false Malaky. _Or is it the true one?_ she thinks as she kisses Cant.

+=+=+=+=+=

Jano Secor stares at the screen with open loathing and anger. The Imperial naval bulletin’s blinking Aurabesh type stares back at him dispassionately, but with blunt truth. He was now about two million Imperial credits poorer, after unknown ‘parties’ as the bulletin reads, had hijacked the armed transport, that had been carrying his personal ‘baggage’ in its secure vaults. Two million in metal backed Republic currency, not listed on any manifest on the supposedly secure transport.

He shakes his head as his gray eyes narrow. His mind goes to several possibilities as to who might have taken the credits. At least two of them share seats on the Ubiqtorate and COMPNOR. Another had just lost hers, through his maneuvering with the other two. He wonders if there are more sinister possibilities. That his partner just might have double-crossed him.

His anger grows at the possibility that he may have been outsmarted by a slaver. A slaver who had peaked his interest with a business proposition as the commander of the Republic squadron nearest Zygerria’s claimed trade space. A proposition made to the High Councilor of the Queen of Zygerria. One who had managed to survive the sudden change in government by the Separatists and the subsequent defeat by the Jedi.

Secor’s attention is drawn away from the screen by the door chime. “Enter,” he says shortly.

A young ensign marches in, his bearing and uniform exact in its perfection. The officer bows, slightly, holding the bow until acknowledged.

The Moff sighs. _If only the arrogant smirk on his face could be wiped off._ “What?” he asks.

“I have carried out your instructions, Uncle,” he says. “Jad Antol has been removed.”

Jano locks him with an icy glare. “How many times must I tell you, not to call me that on an Imperial vessel?” he asks quietly.

A quiet growl that is the equivalent of a full-on scream from any other officer.

The smirk on the young man’s face grows, but he dips his head. “A thousand apologies, Your Excellency,” he says.

 _Not exactly humble_ , Secor thinks with a hint of amusement. “What about Antol?”

“I didn’t have a chance to take her out, as she was too well-guarded. I did end your Alderaani problem. The former Director of Security is now extinct.”

“His daughter?” Secor asks.

“Still breathing, but I think she has managed to worm her way into Isard’s good graces. Thought it might be best not to go after her, yet.”

Secor laughs. “Imagine that. You’ve finally grown a discretion center in that murderous little brain of yours. Even though you were instructed to tie up all loose ends.”

The young officer does not back down. “You could stand with a little gratitude. I killed members of my own family to tie up your little ‘loose ends’, just because you overextended yourself trying to move into a Core world. One that the Antols already had a foothold on.”

“You might watch your tone with me. One word from me and your mother wakes up in an Imperial spice mine. Or, I just might have you spaced as soon as we get to Alderaan.”

“Might be harder than you think, _Uncle_.”

“Ahh, yes. The threat of exposure for my brother’s indiscretions. Indiscretions with a member of a family of murderers.”

“Not a threat, Moff. Just a reminder,” the Ensign says.

Secor remains silent. “Were you able to find out anything more about that other matter?”

“You mean the fact that you may have spread your seed even farther than the Mid-Rim than your brother?” He shakes his head. “No. I wasn’t. Too busy killing people to find your bastard gets.”

With one swift movement, Secor is at the young man. A massive fist swings, sending the young officer flying.

The young man’s dark eyes are wide, as he picks himself off of the deck. He brings his left hand to his jaw, moves it from side-to-side, then up and down. Secor watches as he glances at his reflection in a mirror affixed to the bulkhead. The smirk is no longer present on his face. Only the hatred in his eyes. The eyes of his mother. Another bastard. The spawn of the late head of a certain crime family on Naboo.

Secor calms himself. “You would do well to keep your comments to yourself. Or I will remember your failures to follow my instructions.”

“Yes, your Excellency,” the young man says. Secor walks over to where he stands. He touches the darkening bruise on his jaw in a gesture almost tender.

He reaches up and kisses the young man on his forehead. “No matter. Go get some rest, Mal. You have at least earned that much.”

The young man reaches to the deck and picks his cap up. He gives a quick bow and leaves the room.

Secor returns to his chair sits, eyeing the chaos of hyperspace. A chaos that ends when his Stardestroyer reverts to normal space.

Moff Jano Secor, now Moff of the Alderaan sector, thinks about children.

Of blood and of choice.

+=+=+=+=+=

Bryne Covenant watches the three body bags being placed in the transport’s cargo compartment. _Seems like this is all that I am doing in my tenure as Peacekeeper-General._ He shakes his head of the thoughts. Sen, Boge, and Tika M’Faru walk up to him. He smiles at the bright spots of his existence for now. He tries not to think of a young woman lying in a medbed, thinking on the loss of her dream. Of what that loss of her dream could mean to one who trusted him to protect the young woman, even though the ask was unspoken.

It was expected of the Covenant of his people. A protector.

He turns to Boge, who grins at him, broadly. “You might want to be more careful with your little high jump,” he says in a low voice.

Covenant can feel his eyebrows climb into his hairline. The rest of the family matches Boge’s grin. “Yeah, well. I think I’m soon to be out of a job. Won’t be much of a reason to stay on your world,” he says after a moment.

“I wouldn’t count yourself out too much, bud,” Boge says. “You solved the scary one’s Antol problem. Or somebody did, with a little help from you rounding up all the usual suspects.”

Covenant says nothing, but continues to think of Meglann. He misses Sen’s glance at his family and subsequent trio of eyerolls.

“What are your orders, General?” Tika asks.

“I have no fucking clue, Tika,” he says.

Sen shoves him. He is able to maintain his balance. He is fairly certain he would not if either of the two younger M’Farus had. Boge from his bulk, and Tika from her Imperial training.

“Don’t give me that, Covenant,” Sen growls. “We know what you are. We more than others. We will guard it with our lives.”

Covenant stares at them. They stare back.

Finally, Boge speaks. “We consider ourselves Alderaani. But we are descended from Korun refugees a hundred generations ago.” Covenant’s eyes widen. “Yes, we are descended from natural Force-users. None of us have it anymore. I guess not having to use it to hunt and survive on our world kind of diluted it in the ensuing generations, until it was gone.”

Covenant says nothing. In his mind, he is watching a Korun Jedi Master staring at him as he tries to explain some stupid-ass mistake he had made.

“We know, better than most what you are,” Boge repeats. “Of who you are. We will hold your secret and we’ll watch your back. Because for the first time in years, all of us feel like we have a calling again, rather than just a goddamned job,” Sen says.

Covenant’s vision blurs. He turns away. Murta is standing in front of him. The Peacekeeper-Sergeant chokes, his own tears spilling. Without a word, he hands his blaster and credentials to Covenant.

Bryne stares at them as Murta turns and walks away.

Boge starts to go after him. Sen stops him, shakes his head. He takes the items from Bryne. “Let him go. Give him time. He, even more than you, General, will have to deal with Meglann’s losses.”

Covenant says nothing. He turns and walks towards the waiting speeder. As he does, he sees the two dozen uniformed and plainclothes Peacekeepers turn and face him. He feels like they stare at him accusingly. Like he is an imposter. As one, their hands come up to their brows in salute.

He enters the speeder, unable meet their eyes. They hold the salute as the speeder moves them from his vision.

+=+=+=+=+=

Raisa Horan stands at attention while Director— _no—just Colonel Antol_ closes her case. Raisa is able to keep the smirk off of her face as the former Director nods at her and leaves the office.

The new ISB station chief, finally free of everyone looking over her shoulder, sits at her desk and calls up her datapad. She realizes that an analysis of the latest transmission from the criminal Malaky or Malikarus, or whatever has finished.

Something that Antol had assigned her just before getting unceremoniously demoted. She scans it idly, not really caring what it says. Until her eyes lock on one number-and-letter sequence in one category.

The secondary origin category. The segment of the transmission string that provides the best chance to tag, track, and locate the transmission’s genesis. Numbers and letters she knows almost as much as her own. Seeing she had seen it on every report that she had written and sent for authorization.

She remembers it because it had usually accompanied an official rejection of the report. The numbers and letters represent the code cylinder cipher of the former station chief of Alderaan ISB. Dav Kolan. The man who had been the bane of her existence for the last year or so. The man who had threatened to burn her to death if she didn’t reveal her father’s connection to a criminal conspiracy. The man who had also freed her from the influence of that conspiracy. Who had not cared about her parentage. Only the pursuit of the truth.

She didn’t owe him. This evidence puts him at the heart of another conspiracy. She stops. He was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He would never use his code cylinder to fake a transmission. Or send one that would make him liable for the death penalty.

She has to pass this on. If she didn’t, she could put herself next to him waiting on the execution droid. She opens a comm to a certain code. One who had recently asked her for information on Leeza Antol’s activities.

She waits for it to connect. Armand Isard’s face fades into view.

“Director, I have some news.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Moff Jano Secor waits impatiently for the shuttle to signal that it is ready for him to board. To take him down to the surface of his new capital planet. A stormtrooper walks in and shuts the door behind him. Secor fixes an angry eye on the trooper. “Don’t they teach you to ask permission to enter a senior officer’s quarters?” The trooper says nothing. He reaches up with one hand and disconnects his helmet, pulling it off. Secor stares into the dark eyes of Dav Kolan.

His posture relaxes for a moment. He grins. “Hello Trigger,” he says. Kolan’s face remains expressionless. Secor’s eyes widen. He inches to the desk. Kolan gestures with the E-11 blaster now pointed at him.

Secor moves back. “What is this about, Kolan? Have you finally gone off of the deep end? Your head injury finally catch up to you?” Kolan reaches into a pouch and tosses a metallic object onto the desk. Secor smiles. “I guess I should be more discerning about where I leave those laying around. Where did you find it?”

“On the corpse of a crooked cop. One who had been killing people for two years or so.”

“Really? People? He was killing criminals.”

“Maybe so,” Dav says. “But by doing so, he subverted the law. He subverted order.”

“When I picked you off of the dungpile, I should’ve done something about that overdeveloped, prickly sense of honor and duty.”

Dav finally smiles. “You have to ask, Captain? I thought that I learned it from you.”

“Then you don’t know me at all, Dav. I learned early on to look out for me first.”

“Why, Captain? Why did you throw away everything you fought for? That you swore an oath for?” He stares at his former commander.

“Because it was never about duty. It was about survival. Surviving in a way that was better than a naval officer’s salary. After having nothing, you always want something more.” His eyes grow hooded. “Thought I might’ve taught you that when we were lying in bed together.”

Dav’s eyes flash at the mention of those stolen moments.

“There still is a chance, Dav. Put the blaster down and let’s figure a way to incriminate Antol or Isard or Yularen.”

Secor begins to inch back towards the desk. He touches a desk leg with his boot.

“I don’t know if it was the smartest thing to bring up the sex, Captain. Guess that didn’t mean anything.”

Secor actually laughs. “Did you think you were the only one? I have vast appetites when it comes to that. You were just one of many whom I ‘mentored’. Tell me. You sure you want to do this? I don’t think you know what you are getting into.”

“Know exactly what I’m doing. Besides, it helps to be dead,” he says with a familiar smirk.

“No. Not really,” Secor replies. “I was prepared to incriminate that twit Antol. But, I have set in motion my backup plan. So what else besides my coin pointed you in my direction?”

“The fact that you set me on yet another high-ranking Imperial, so soon after Poldar and the Zeltros affair,” he says. “Plus the fact that I remembered your middle name from seeing something on your nightstand one night after we finished. Malikarus.”

Secor shakes his head. “Thought I’d erased all reference. Comes from a supposedly Mandalorian clan. Clan Malika of House Malika. One of the three major Houses at one time, albeit a smaller one.”

“So what is this backup plan you mentioned?” Kolan asks.

“Oh, might as well tell you, since you will be either dead or on the run soon. I made it clear that you were the source of recent Malaky transmissions. Probably will set the whole Empire, as well as what is left of the Antols after you.”

Kolan says nothing, but Secor can tell his mind is racing.

Secor makes his move as the door snaps open. Mal Adede jumps in the room. Kolan opens fire, causing him to crab sideways out of the line of fire. Kolan turns and sweeps the coin from the desk, but cries out as a blaster bolt from Secor strikes his shoulder.

He returns fire, causing Secor to dive away.

He continues to fire as he exits the cabin.

Adede stands. Secor runs towards him. “Alert the hangar deck. He’ll try to steal something.” He stops. “What is that noise?” Secor asks to a high pitched whine.

He and the young ensign turn towards his desk.

Five E-11 blaster magazines sit in their pouches. “Overload! Run!” Adede shouts.

They manage to make it to the passageway and partially close the door before the homemade bombs explode.

+=+=+=+=+=

The Captain of the Imperial Stardestroyer _Velociraptor_ allows the chaos to happen around him. He listens to the damage reports from the various departments as his ship fights to stay in orbit around Alderaan. He half-listens to a report from the medical bay. Moff Secor is in surgery and then will be spending a large proportion of the next month in bacta. He had not regained consciousness and was unable to give any information on their attacker. The Captain grits his teeth. The Moff’s ‘aide’, Ensign Adede, was nowhere to be found. The young officer is possibly in pursuit of the attacker; an attacker whose mayhem had left his proud Stardestroyer reeling, between the initial explosions and the secondary blasts. He glances out of the viewport, thinking of the identity of the attacker. A man he had known for ten years.

A stranger walks up him, accompanied by Fleet troopers he does not realize. His eyebrows raise as he notices that the diminutive young woman is wearing armor over a white tunic. He purses his lips. _Great. Security. Just what I need._

“Horan. ISB Station Chief. What do you need from us, Captain?” she asks.

He nods approvingly. “Someone has taught you well, Agent. We are good, right now. You might want to provide extra security for the Moff. He is going to be out of commission for a while.”

She nods. “We’re carrying out the investigation on the surface. There doesn’t seem to be a connection with Alderaan. This is an internal investigation. Fleet Command will be sending you orders to cooperate fully.”

“We will, Agent. I have known Moff Secor a long time. Dav Kolan as well. I find it hard to believe that he would do this. He owed Secor a great deal.” He notices Horan’s expression. “What?” he asks.

“Kolan will escape punishment. The _Sentinel_ he stole was hit by your picket ships. It crashed on the surface. It must’ve been carrying a great deal of munitions. It disintegrated.”

He narrows his eyes. To his unanswered question, she says, “Even though there was nothing left, we did find trace amounts of his DNA.

“Really. How convenient,” he says dryly.

Her dark eyes flash. “If you have something to say, Captain, say it. Otherwise, shut the hell up.”

He looks down at her. Ordinarily, the agent could be called beautiful. But the perpetually angry look she has apparently adopted detracts from his desire to take her to bed. He smiles. She barely comes up to his chest.“Very well, Horan. I will take your advice. But you can tell your ISB buddies that they had better not come onto the bridge of an Imperial Stardestroyer and—.”

He stops. She has already turned and is striding away.

+=+=+=+=+=

Xita watches the bank of screens that watch over the main casino floor. Since the capture of the human, Calrissian, she has taken it upon herself to monitor the work of her pit bosses and floor security.

Her boss had made it clear that any cheaters must be caught early and dealt with severely. If they were not, her security crew might take their place as recipients of punishment—including her.

Xita quickly scans the screens. She is about to turn and leave when something catches her eye. Something shiny. A shiny, large whisky flask, placed just so on a sabacc table.Just where the owner can see every card dealt.

A classic, almost blatant Shiner. She zooms in on the table. At the player nearest the flask.

A beautiful Togruta, dressed provocatively in the manner of her hunt-culture. A growing pile of credits in front of her. She would fetch a handsome price on Gardulla’s dance floor. Or in the cribs of her palace. Unless Greyshade decreed that one of her lekku must be taken. _Or her head._

Xita curses. The pit boss should have caught this. She turns and heads for the main casino.


	20. The Wheel Turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A part-time and a full-time scoundrel meet. It may not go like you think it will.
> 
> Perhaps Fulcrum no longer sucks at winsome and seductive.

The Honorable Ulric Tagge, youngest brother of a vast family mining corporation, eyes his cards warily for a half-second. His smooth face, he is sure, reveals nothing to his one remaining opponent. He moves his eyes to her. The warm smile from the woman’s face and the appraising look in her blue eyes cuts through to his center. He reaches up and runs his fingers along the inside of the suddenly too-tight collar of his Imperial cadet’s uniform.

Other articles of clothing are suddenly tighter as well, as the Togruta runs the tip of her tongue over her lips, then worries one of her sharp incisors. His eyes fall as she reaches over to the bare arm of the Lethan Twi’lek woman next to her. She smiles a soft smile and runs her hand over the red skin, which ripples at her touch. The young woman reaches over and kisses the Togruta quickly.

His eyes rise, lingering on the deep vee of the halter that barely conceals her breasts. He starts and realizes her gaze is on him again. She reaches down and into that vee and pulls what looks like a gold republic credit. Her fingers rub suggestively over the coin.

She allows the coin to drop, then moves more modern versions of the coinage into the pot. Her left eyebrow marking raises challengingly. “Well, my dear Admiral,” she purrs, “is the valiant Imperial navy going to call?”

He looks at his cards. Something in his mind buzzes for a moment. He hears the gasps of the onlookers as he pushes his credits to the center. “Only if I can have a night with you, my Lady,” he says. He is sure that his voice sounds deep and cosmopolitan, rather than squeaky and wavering.

Her smile broadens. “Perhaps, sweetie. I think that I have an offer about to be presented from this darling sitting next to me, but it might be fun to add a handsome hero like yourself.”

Ulric’s eyes widen as the Twi’lek smiles at him. He manages not to fall out of his chair. He notices that the other players, who the young woman had been steadily flirting with throughout the game, give a collective groan. His eyes fall further as the Togruta lays her cards down. He shakes his head, as he realizes he has just lost most of family’s stipend for the semester. He closes his eyes. Cadet Tagge opens them as he hears a commotion near his opponent. Two large humans have laid hands on her. A large Falleen woman approaches her. He sees that the Twi’lek woman has smoothly moved from her side.

“Bryane Torla, you are under arrest for cheating,” the Falleen says. She points at the shiny flask next to her. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice? Especially after having one cheater in this casino?”

“Took you long enough, darling. I have been plowing through most of your tables over the past three days,” the Togruta says.

“Yes, and that could be a problem for you, since we couldn’t find the credits you won.” Ulric watches the security chief’s crest ripple. She reaches over and touches the woman’s left lek. “While you are in the cell with the other cheater, you might want to say your goodbyes to this little pretty. I think the Senator will want a trophy on his office walls.” She lifts the lek and kisses the tip. “Maybe I can persuade him to let me have you as another kind of trophy. One that doesn’t wear clothing any more.”

The young woman’s answer is to bring the large thug holding her right arm, into the security chief. A brief stopover on the way to smashing heads with the other large thug. Both collapse like a sack of maize-stalks. The young Togruta turns to leave, but stops, turns, and blows a kiss to Ulric. She takes a step forward and screams as the Twi’lek woman applies the guard’s electrostaff to the base of her skull, next to the center lek. The cheater’s former ‘date’ holds it there, as the woman fights the arc of energy coursing through her body.

The security chief’s new ally holds it on her all the way to the ground.

Xita Chloran wipes blood from her mouth as she eyes the convulsing woman. The two thugs are joined by two others. She eyes them with contempt. “Take her to the cheat’s cell, until I decide what to do with her.” She grins. “Although, she might be entertaining in the fighting pits, given her skill at beating you two assholes.”

Ulric Tagge shakes his head, as he watches the guards drag her away. To anyone who knows him, his Imperial aristocrat-bland face shows just a hint of regret.

Unknown to the Imperial, and everyone else who has returned to their gambling, another young woman watches as the woman she knows as Fulcrum is taken away. She rubs her hand over her swollen belly. Her eyes meet those of the Lethan Twi’lek who had stunned Fulcrum. The Twi’lek nods quickly and turns away.

+=+=+=+=+=

Ahsoka’s brain recovers from the brief fog. She does not reach up to touch the spot where the low-powered electrostaff had touched her neck, albeit briefly with direct contact. She takes inventory. _Still have my left lek, although I do want to scrub it where that Falleen pawed it._ She tries to make sense of what just happened, but refrains from looking a gift eopie in the mouth.

Either her card-playing companion, who had just latched onto her arm after the young woman had blown through her own credits after a serious of spectacularly bad decisions, didn’t know what she was doing when she tried to play security officer, or Ahsoka might have an extra ally—other than the ones she had brought with her.

Hopefully she might be more trustworthy than those two. _Of course, the Twi’lek’s motivations might be something a little more base,_ she thinks, as she recalls the Twi’lek’s fingers on her breasts, under her clothing.

She smiles to herself as she is dragged to her next adventure. She is hopeful it is not a date with a vibro-ax. Or a new and exciting career on her knees. Ahsoka opens herself to the Force. She is unable to scan for danger, but she is overwhelmed by a feeling of despair and pain, coming from the green, purple, and gold light that now sporadically appears in her Force sense.

She cannot discern what the cause of the pain is, but at least she knows that he is whole and alive, at least in body, if not in spirit or mind. She shakes her head slightly as she pushes the light away for her own dilemma. _I’m sorry, Bait,_ she sends to the light. _Got to get myself out of this mess._

Her eyes tear slightly under her closed eyelids. She is unsure if he heard her. The pain takes on taste of failure. Not of grief, but failure.

Ahsoka fights not to give into the despair herself.

+=+=+=+=+=

Sorentin Rhayme rolls his eyes, as he listens to the umpteenth growl coming from Gral Kruvure, sitting across from him in the tiny cell. He had hoped that the cuff he had given the younger man would’ve cured him of the grumbling.

He finally decides to give in and actually ask the muscle to talk about his concerns. His partner is only too happy to oblige.

“I’ll tell you what is wrong, Rhayme. The fact that your little Togruta friend used us as a diversion to get into the high-roller’s casino. She didn’t stick to the plan. She was supposed to be the diversion, not us. I don’t like working with people who don’t stick to the plans. The plan is paramount,” Kruvure says.

He doesn’t see Rhayme mouth the last three words along with him. Gral is too busy being wound up at the fracture of the agreed upon plan to notice the mockery. Sorentin tunes back in, fairly certain he has not missed anything of significance. Just more of the same.

“…she was supposed to be the one going into the gladiator pits. Not us. We were supposed to be, for once, the gamblers in the casino,” the Zabrak finishes.

Sorentin is unable to stifle the eyeroll. “Are you insane, Gral? Do we look like the types to be yukking it up in a casino? Did she look like the type who could sell fighting a Rancor or something in the pits?”

Kruvure smirks. “I don’t know. She handled me fairly well. Plus, speak for yourself. I clean up well.”

Rhayme shakes his head. “You are so full of poodoo, Gral. I am a Thought-General of the Pantoran All-Highest Strategery. I have been present at some of the most prestigious events in my world’s history for the last forty years. I know how to ‘clean up’, as you so artfully put it,” he says. He feels his voice take on a pedantic, professorial tone. He backs it down a nudge, just as Gral laughs.

“What?” Rhayme asks. He can feel his face growing hot.

“If you were such a shit-hot General that everybody wanted, then why was your last official gig babysitting some little Senator and teaching her some of your meanness?”

“You might want to not speak disrespectfully of Riyo Chuchi, little man. She is a great and powerful Senator,” Rhayme says, rising.

Gral holds his hands up. “I have nothing but respect for the good Senator. After all, she put up with you for two years. I do question her judgement. She thinks that Orto Plutonia reflects the sun out of your ass.’

Rhayme sits back down. He looks down. “You wouldn’t know it by our last conversation. She said that she thought I would be swinging from a gibbet somewhere soon.”

He calms as he sees as warm of a smile as he would get from his partner. “Everybody thinks that, Sor, after five minutes of knowing you. Hell, the Face and I still have a pool going,” he says.

Rhayme sees his face darken. “Hey, little man. I am sure she is okay. She’ll come back to us, some day. It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do.”

Gral is silent. Finally, he speaks up, changing the subject. “Stop calling me little man, you old bastard. I got nearly eight centimeters on you. Do you have a plan to get us out of here?”

“Yep. Just need to decide who is going to play sick. You or me? I think that you are more convincing than I am, since you whine so much,” the Pantoran says.

“You gotta be shitting me,” Gral says. “The great Thought-General of the Strategy thingy and that’s the best you can come up with? Play sick? My third-biggest temple horn could come up with something better than that. Do you think that they care if we are sick or not?”

He stands up, his eyes flashing. In a quick move, Rhayme feels himself lifted into the air and tossed against the bars. He manages not to slump, but jumps up and kicks Kruvure in the jaw.

Gral recoils and shoves his head at Rhayme. Sorentin bellows as one of the Zabrak’s sharpened horns plunges into the meaty part of his bicep. “You son of a bitch,” he yells. “You always were useless.” He can sense the guards’ interest rising as the two large males pummel each other.

Blood begins to fly as one of the guards takes out his comm and begins to film. Gral’s eyes lock on his. They both maneuver to where their faces are obscured. Gral smiles at him, before another head-butt. Sorentin is able to avoid it, as he turns his head, he sees the guard seeking a new career as a holovid director come closer to the cell.

He sees Gral counting down. He syncs his breathing with his longtime partner.

_Now!_

Sorentin Rhayme and Gral Kruvure both grab for the guard. They both smile as he smashes against the outside of the cell door. He sinks to the ground.

Sorentin grabs his blaster before the other guard can clear leather, sending a bolt into his chest.

He turns to crow in triumph to the Zabrak.

Gral shakes his head and points to the far guard, to his belt.

Sorentin feels his gut clinch, as he sees the key to the cell on the guard’s belt. The guard that he just shot. Way out of his reach to seize the key.

He curses his luck.

+=+=+=+=+=

Wullf Yularen looks up as Armand Isard walks into his office. Isard motions him to remain seated as he starts to get up. Yularen instead rises and walks over to the sideboard. When both have their brandy, they seat themselves in the area before the fire.

Yularen returns to his perusal of the information on his datapad. He realizes that Isard is watching him intently. He sighs and puts down the datapad.

“What’s bothering you, Wullf?” the career intelligence man asks. “We have the culprit, or at least know who it was. We still don’t know if Secor will survive or not, but I am not sure that Kolan didn’t do us a favor if he doesn’t. I don’t know how much of the Moff was loyalty and how much was ambition.”

Yularen nods, but says nothing. He watches a slow smile flow over the aquiline features.

“You’ve found something?” Isard asks.

Yularen takes a deep breath. “Maybe. Might be nothing, but there are several coincidences,” he says.

“Coincidences make up most of my world, Colonel. You have my attention.”

Yularen sips his brandy. “One, the money that we supposedly found in his account—about five million—only went in a day or so ago. Before that, he nearly had a negative balance. Only his salary, both his Navy and his ISB stipend, were the only money going in, except for occasional gambling windfalls. It went out almost as soon as it went in.”

“Was the five million transferred?” Isard asks.

“No. Deposited.”

“What else, Wullf?” the Minister prompts.

“A closer decrypt of the code cylinder cipher shows an anomaly. A very small one, that wouldn’t be noticed in the first glance, but I ordered a deeper scan, a scan by one of our best slicers.”

“And?” Isard says, his eyebrows rising.

“The cipher was off by a differential in one constant of about .023. Again, a variation that wouldn’t be picked up in a basic look.” He falls silent.

“What does that mean in Director-speak?” Isard says.

“It means that the cipher was from a cloned cylinder.”

Isard picks up his snifter, downs the contents. “So somebody framed an ISB Inspector and attempted to kill a Moff, as well as succeeded in killing the Inspector?” he asks quietly.

“Maybe they didn’t kill the Inspector. I have never known Dav Kolan to crash anything,” the former Admiral says.

They are both silent as they contemplate the possibilities.

+=+=+=+=+=

Lando Calrissian snarls at the guard as he is thrown back into the cell. He runs to the bars just as they slam. He pounds the bars ineffectually as the guards laugh.

 _Guess the third escape attempt is not the charm_ , he thinks to himself. He rests his head against the bars. He looks down at himself, and shakes his head. _Next time steal some pants. Kinda easy to spot someone running in nothing but their underwear._

He turns at a noise from behind him. His eyes widen as he realizes he is not alone in the small cell.

A young Togruta is stretching, her arms above her head. His eyes instinctively track down her body.

And back up again.

Several times—for tactical reasons, of course. For possible aid in his escape.

She is clad in her underwear, but with the difference that the guards had left her with her brief top. A top that with the current stretching, is revealing a great deal of her strengths and weaknesses.

Lando gulps as he decides that he cannot truly find any weaknesses. Except for the fact that her obvious beauty would draw a great amount of attention in any escape attempt.

He sees her blue eyes fall on him as they open. She smiles, an expression that lights up her orange-bronze features. He looks down self-consciously as her eyes track down his body.

“Hello, there,” she says in a high, clear voice. “Good to see that I’m not alone in my captivity.

She rises sinuously and walks over to him. She gives a brief test of the bars, her arm brushing against his as she does. Lando notes the cooler temperature of her skin. He realizes that she is just a little taller than he is, even without the tall— _what do you call them? Montrels?_ —rising from her head. He figures that she is only a few years older than him, early twenties or so. He flinches as her hand rises to his cheek. Her thumb traces the bruise that he had incurred on his last escape attempt.

Lando tries to regain his voice at her touch. He sees a brief glimpse of something in her eyes, just before she looks down. The glimpse is gone as she returns her gaze to his. He smiles as he sees the definite look of interest in them.

If he had a tiny bit of self-awareness, he might have recognized the look in her eyes. A look of regret—of gathering herself to do something that she is reluctant to do.

He raises his own hand to his cheek. He finds his voice, gives a brief vocalization to make sure that the voice is at the proper pitch. “I’m glad that I’m not alone either. Especially with one as beautiful as you,” he says.

Again, the self-awareness is at an all-time low. His eyes are traveling down her body, so he misses the toxic eyeroll.

He does feel her smile light her face again as she moves her left hand down from his face. It rests momentarily on his bare chest. Her fingers ghost through the small amount of hair on his chest. “I’m sure that we can find something to occupy our time while waiting to see what they have in store for us,” she says.

The hand moves downward. He is sure that he is able to maintain his look of sophistication as it trails down his ribcage and lingers at his navel. Just as he is sure that the squeak that is heard comes from some machinery in the cell. Just as he is sure that the goofy-ass grin on his face is from something other than her touch; the anticipation.

Her hand moves back up to his chest. The stroke of her fingers are almost hypnotic. He shakes his head; tries to catch his breath.

His breath is elusive as she places her hand in that sparse nest of hair, flattening the palm against his chest, above his heart.

Her nails scrape downward, tightening. Using the tiny sign of maturity against him, she pulls, only a little bit harder than ‘gently’.

Her smile remains on her face. Her blue eyes, however have hardened.

“We can pass the time, darling, by you telling me what you have done with my goddamned money, _you little ingrate_ ,” he hears.


	21. The Wheel Stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connections all over the place.

Ahsoka Tano kneels in the corner of the cell, her eyes closed in concentration. Concentration necessary to tune out the incessant prattle of the other inhabitant of the cell.

After she had released his chest hair, he had gone through a list of different cons, trying to identify which pot of purloined funds she might be referring to. After about the fifth scam, most of which involved wealthy names that she actually recognized, she had thrown up her hands and turned away to her corner.

When she had felt his eyes on her retreating ass, she had whirled around and spat out less than a dozen words to him.

“Lassa Rhayme. She’s a friend of mine.”

She is treated to the reward of him unconsciously rubbing a spot on his own ass. Her eyes widen as his face tracks downward to his bare feet, an expression of contrition on his handsome face. She hears words that trigger another eyeroll.

“I broke her heart,” she hears him whisper.

 _Not bloody likely_ , Junior, she thinks.

She begins to deepen her concentration. As she does, she lets her thoughts move to Covenant, as they usually do in her few idle moments these days, between having to solve ‘idiot’ problems or survive; or listening to people—‘finding out what they could do, and helping them do it’—as she had once told Bail what her job should be.

Some of these thoughts involve more of the physical, but mostly, they center on emotions. On trying to figure out what those emotions are and what to do about them. Right this exact minute, she is trying to figure off what the extreme sense of loss and pain that she had felt in his thoughts and emotions in the casino.

She starts as the ring on her montral, that incredibly, the guards had left her with, starts to buzz, the sensation moving down her lekku. She curses the timing. She pushes the thoughts of Bryne to the back of her mind as she concentrates on a certain door lock.

As she does, she can still hear Lando talking. She shakes her head and then Smirks as she acts on the thoughts. The door to the cell snaps open. She opens one eye, cautiously. Lando is still talking, having reached his tenth birthday in the monologue.

Ahsoka senses the two guards rushing to the door of the cell. Another thought and the two are smashed up against the far wall of the anteroom. They sag to the floor, unconscious. As she rises, the drawling voice is heard in her head. _Not bad, Runt. Slipping in your old age, though._

She realizes that Lando Calrissian has finally stopped talking. He jumps to his feet, his eyes wide at the collapsed guards and the open door. He looks at her standing calmly.

“Must be a virus going around,” she says dryly. She walks over to him.

Without a word, she reaches down and kisses him firmly. “You know, bud, you’re cute. Very pretty, and I think you’re also pretty smart. You just don’t have to try so damned hard,” she says. With that, she leaves him standing in the cell, his mouth agape.

She turns back before she reaches the door and jerks her head. “Let’s get my kriffing money,” she says.

~=~=~=~=~=

The young Lethan Twi’lek smirks as she pulls a bodysuit on. She looks down at the unconscious Falleen, who lies in her bed, tied up and naked. There is a smile on the woman’s face.

“Still got it, Face,” the young woman says. “You didn’t even have to even get out of your clothes. Just a little Arkanian sleepy-time lipstick, a tiny bit of pinch, tickle, and smooch and it’s goodnight Falleen.” She eyes the security chief with distaste. As she finishes affixing plates of armor to the bodysuit, she walks over to the security console and pulls a datapad from the bag that is attached to the chestplate. She punches several buttons in sequence, before touching it to the console.

The young woman known as the Face, stores her datapad, then turns to go. She hears a moan from the Falleen. She grins. “Never would’ve pegged you for a screamer, dear,” she says

As she leaves the chamber, she bends down and picks up her discarded evening gown, stuffing it into another bag. She thinks of the strangeness of her life, of the retainer paid by a certain Pantoran Thug-General to be his eyes and ears.

She shakes her head. She knows it is his way to keep her in the sphere of his ‘family.’ Especially in the mind of his partner in crime.

_Those two dunderheads are lucky that they got me looking out for them. That new wife of the old man certainly ain’t gonna cut it._

Her mind goes to the young Togruta cheat whose arm she had fitted herself to in the Casino. Per the hurried instructions of that same Pantoran general—a general of whom she had once been his most promising protege’ in the art of having rich people donate their money to them. Face wonders what her story is. There is something very familiar about her. Unaccountably, she thinks of her new backup job. One that doesn’t pay. One with yet another name.

She hopes that the woman’s story doesn’t end here. She pulls her comm and sends a burst transmission to another. A comm used by someone who might be very interested in that person she had glimpsed in the casino during the ruckus caused by the cheat’s capture.

A someone who had also helped shape her life. A someone who apparently is trying to start anew, once again, by the looks of things. Just like she is.

She feels the eyeroll coming on. _As usual, I think I‘m doing better at it._

The young woman with no name of her own exits the security headquarters section. She begins to run towards the docking bays. As she does, several loud explosions can be heard from the area of the gladiatorial pens. She stops, debating about running back there, continuing on to the docking bays, or trying to find the hidden cells that Greyshade keeps for cheaters that might just disappear.

She shakes her head. _They’re all on their own. My job is to make sure the getaway route is open. For everybody_. The young woman known only as the Face continues on to the docking bays.

~=~=~=~=~=

Kruvure shoves the older man down a side corridor just as a blaster bolt passes through where the Pantoran’s head had been, a half-second before.

“You know,” Rhayme says. “If you weren’t such an asshole, we might not be in this situation.”

“Why am I an asshole? You’re the one that pisses everybody off that you meet within five minutes of meeting you.”

“No, bud. You have it backwards. I don’t remember it like that at all.”

The snark and accusations stop as more blaster bolts and security goons are sent in their direction.

Everything had gone smoothly until Gral’s large frame had been spotted by an alert off-duty wrangler from the gladiator pits.

Their protestations of innocence had not been helped by the fact that Gral had picked the wrangler, a diminutive Aqualish and had thrown him across the room.

The blasters of the security force, which had arrived a couple of minutes into the altercation had persuaded them they should go this way. Kruvure looks down another corridor. He smirks as he sees the Falleen security chief screaming at her minions to move forward on them. He notices that her boots are mismatched. He opens fire with the borrowed long rifle into the crowd. As she leaps out of the line of fire, along with her guards, he smirks. Xita is clad only in a quickly grabbed nightshirt. One that is apparently inside out and backwards.

Gral and Sorentin look at each other as they simultaneously hear a high-pitched oscillating noise from yet another corridor. They move their gaze to that direction, just in time to see a dozen security guards falling.

The guards are falling around several de-energizing metal spheres gradually coming to a stop.

Gral’s eyes widen as the spheres leap into the air and come to hover behind a figure standing in the corridor. Gral’s heart clinches as his eyes track to the figure’s face. A scarlet face with mesmerizing black eyes, under a mask that resembles a Mandalorian _buy’ce_ , adapted for her lekku. He stands unable to move as the young Twi’lek holds him in her gaze.

“Come on, hardhead. Do you want to be some Rancor’s chew toy?” the Face says.

She turns without saying another word. He and Rhayme start to follow her. They hear the blast doors close behind them.

“She looks good, doesn’t she?” Rhayme says as they run.

Gral merely grunts, unable to say anything.

“The Mando gear is new,” the General continues.

“Would you shut up, asshole? You suck at small talk. When we get out of this, we are going to have a loud conversation about you asking my mate to this party. When I specifically asked you to stay away from her.”

At that, he begins to run faster. He stops at another junction. The Face is nowhere to be seen. Instead, Lassa Rhayme stands in front of a service hatch.

“Well, boys, I’m your ride.” She grins as Sorentin plows into Gral from behind. Her face grows sober. She looks at Gral, but speaks to her father. “Make sure this old man is housebroken and stays out of my way,” is all that she says.

“What about Ahsoka and Lando?” Rhayme asks.

“Ahsoka made arrangements already. Your musclehead’s smarter and better half is apparently part of it. Come on. You’re wasting time.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Lando watches as the Togruta pulls on a pair of trousers, rather than the skimpy outfit that was apparently her original attire. She pulls an old nerf-leather flight jacket from the carryall that had apparently been dumped there.

He allows his eyes to go wide at the twin blasters under her arms that the jacket covers up.

His head recoils from the gentle tap she gives him on the forehead, probably in anticipation of something more violent. He shakes his head. He had not even realized she had crossed to where he stood.

_Another mystery with this woman._

“Hey,” she says, pointing at her face, “My eyes are up here, sunshine.”

“I was just admiring your blasters,” he says, wincing as he does. _Nothing to do with the fact that you kept the top that you came in with._

“Yeah. You were looking at a set of things, but they aren’t Blastech products.”

He feels his mouth snap shut at that. Even though she can’t be more than four years older than he is, he feels like she is so much older and more worldly, even than him. Lando nods, unable to say anything. She smiles at him, a warm smile rather than the cutting Smirk she wears most of the time when he says something.

“It’s okay, bud. I‘m not afraid of someone looking at my boobs. Just try not to drool so much.” Her face grows serious as they both hear explosions. “Well, looks like your partners are living up to their reputations for mayhem. Time to go. Hope my other arrangements are on time.”

He follows her from the cell block, scooping up a blaster as he runs. She notices, gives him that powerful Smirk. “Try not to shoot me in the ass, sweetie,” she says.

“I _have_ handled a blaster before,” he says. He winces at his own huffy tone.

Ahsoka suddenly stops as a figure steps out of a side corridor. He sees her look of shock replaced by a smile.

His eyes focus on the figure, who pulls a Mando helmet off. A grin lights her features. “Hello dear,” she says with a slight accent. “You see that a Mandalorian Protector has to pull your ass from the fire, yet again.”

“Hello, Tehlen,” his cellmate says. She reaches up and touches the Mando’s face. “I thought I sent a message to your _riduur_ ,” she says.

A palpable eyeroll moves across her dark bronze features. “That useless old goat? He‘s off somewhere solving his mid-life crisis,” Tehlen says. “Thought I could save my _vod’s_ ass.”

Lando walks up to her, putting his most charming smile on his face. “Hello, I’m Lando,” he says, allowing his eyes to track down her form.

He stops when he reaches her middle. He sees she is not wearing the breastplate of the armor. It wouldn’t fit over her swollen belly. His eyes widen as they hastily track back up to her face. Tehlen smirks. “Yeah, bud. Guess that will keep your eyes where they are supposed to be.”

“Tehlen, love, I never would’ve put you and the baby in danger.” Ahsoka starts, “If I’d known, I would’ve...”

“Hush, Fulcrum,” she says. “I am a Mandalorian mother. I am perfectly capable of protecting me, my _ad_ , and that useless Fenn Shysa.”

Another explosion is heard. Tehlen spins and opens fire, just as bolts strike the wall behind them.

“Come on. Hopefully we have a ride out of here.”

They begin to run towards another auxiliary bay.

Idly, Lando thinks about the name that Tehlen had called his cellmate. _Oh well, not exactly what I would’ve thought._

~=~=~=~=~=

Xita curses as more and more reports come in about blasterfire, explosions, escapes, medical emergencies and other assorted catastrophes along the Wheel’s entire structure. She slams her fist down on the control console as she tries to make sense of the chaos.

There was none. Only more and more reports. Someone had completed bumfuzzled her security system. She, sitting in her usual calm center of control, is completely blind as to what is real and what is manufactured.

Her crest lies down along her skull as her eyes narrow. Her mind trips back to images flashing within.

Images of scarlet skin and almost black eyes. Twitching lekku as she had started to touch the young woman’s bare skin on her arms and shoulders. That was all that she had remembered.

She closes her eyes to focus. They snap open. She disengages her datapad from the mainframe, searching an illicit database filled with records of visitors. She cross-references it with an even less legal archive.

The holosearch stops on a beautiful Twi’lek. Her dark eyes stare out of bright scarlet skin.

The name flashes in accusatory Aurabesh. A name most likely an alias.

She closes her eyes, thinking of how long it would take the Rancor to kill her in the arena, when the Senator finds out.

A human security guard clears his throat. She stands with a growl. The security guard takes a step back. “An unauthorized CR-90 has just lifted from one of the service airlocks. They are already at the hyperspace lanes.”

Xita slumps, sighing, as she continues to listen.“There is another ship—a little Corellian freighter that just jumped in and has managed to get to one of the platforms. Indications from the guards are that one party of thieves is headed there.”

“Which ones?” she asks, the menace apparent in her voice.

“The human cheat and the Togruta.”

The guard moves even further back at Xita’s murderous look. “Get them. Kill them. I want their heads on my desk.”

The human takes a deep breath, placing his finger to his earpiece. “It may be too late. They‘re about at the platform.”

Xita closes her eyes. “Call in the picket ships. It’s probably too much to ask that our gunners can actually hit anything.”

The human hurries to put her wishes in motion. Xita lowers her head to the Wroshyr wood desk.

~=~=~=~=~=

Lando’s lungs burn as they increase speed. Behind him, he hears a gasp. Tehlen, the woman who apparently has some connection with Fulcrum, is doubled over, clutching her belly. Ahsoka is immediately at her side.

“When is it due, Tehl’ika?” she asks, a gentleness in her voice that Lando had not heard before. He turns away. Their pursuers seem to have backed off, after the Togruta had kneecapped four of them in one volley of incredible skill with her two blasters.

“A ten-day ago,” comes the reply through clinched teeth. “I think that my water has broke.”

“Shit,” Ahsoka says. “Come on. We have to move. I am hoping my contact has a ship. Don’t know.”

Lando feels a look of incredulity flow over his features. “You mean you don’t know?” he asks as they each take a shoulder on the Mando fighter. “What the hell kind of rescue is this?”

“Not a rescue, bud,” Fulcrum says. “I could care less about your useless ass. I’m just here for my, ah, company’s money.”

Through her clinched teeth, Tehlen speaks. Her hand moves to her belt. “By the way. Here you go.”

She hands Fulcrum an object. Lando’s eyes flash as he recognizes his credit chip. “Hey,” is all that he can say. A chip last seen in a docking bay rental locker.

His cellmate’s standard expression returns to her face. “Son, you really need to learn to fly, if you’re going to fuck with the shriek-hawks. Might want to change your standard lock-codes from your name day numerals, and your go-to locker number choice from the year.”

In spite of her pain, Tehlen laughs. Lando closes his eyes for an instant as they stop outside a hatch. He sees bronze eyes and smooth blue skin in his mind as he realizes who he had imparted that nugget to during a session of ‘tell me a secret.’

_Come to think of it, she never did tell me one._

He looks at the young woman as Tehlen tries to open the door. “I don’t suppose that you could see fit to just take what I took and leave me the rest? That’s my ‘fuck-you’ money.”

She rolls her eyes. “Nope. Consider it a charitable donation to a good cause.”

Lando’s anger rises. He sees her smile softly. In spite of himself, his anger calms.

“Girl’s gotta have her own ‘fuck-you’ money,” she says. “Or you can just call it my pain-and-suffering fee,” she says, touching the growing horn-like protrusion with its slight singe mark. An older, healing mark is on the opposite montral.

“Oh, please, I barely touched you with the damned thing.”

All three start as the door snaps open. A figure in Mando armor, minus the standard helmet stands in front of them. Lando sees Fulcrum’s eyes narrow as they take in the glimpses of crimson lekku under the mask and hood combination.

“Solstice, I presume,” she says. Lando has a brief glimpse of the figure’s hands coming apart from a particular way of holding them. “Wondered why I didn’t get the full charge. How did you know it was me?”

“Your little party is just my side-gig. A certain old Pantoran bastard told me to watch out for a beautiful Togruta causing mayhem. When I got your burst, I put two and two together.”

“Great. I may have to send a strongly-worded memo about your moonlighting,” Fulcrum says darkly. “Especially with that crew.”

“Yeah. Send away. Sometimes family obligations trump everything.”

Fulcrum lets that slide.

An exasperated noise comes from between them. “As much as I’m enjoying all of the flirting, I think that we might want to get the hell out of here.” Tehlen looks at the Twi’lek. “Good to see you, Face. At least I can depend on one Shysa.”

Lando watches quietly as Fulcrum’s eyes widen at this.

“Yeah. You can actually depend on the other one, as well,” the armored figure says. “He’s a good father, even if I only know him as an adoptive one.”

This exchange earns another eyeroll from Fulcrum. “Is there anyone that you aren’t related to or know?” she says, with exasperation.

“Plenty,” the young woman know as ‘Face’ says. “Wouldn’t mind getting to know my boss better, now that I got to feel her up in the casino.”

Lando is treated to a deep flush on the vibrant blue stripes of his cellmate’s lekku.

Face steps aside. An old Corellian YT-1000 freighter sits on the platform. A _beskar’gam_ \- clad figure stands in front of them.

A noise behind them, of running feet and shouting voices, tells them that their pursuers have regained their courage. Either that, or they fear who is behind them, more.

The quartet moves towards the ship. Lando happens to look at Tehlen, as he helps her along.  
The look in her eyes, in spite of his worldly exterior, warms him.

She only has eyes for the figure at the ship.


	22. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birth and evasive maneuvers.

Ahsoka’s emotions roil as she sees the old freighter. Familiarity nags at her consciousness as she concentrates on getting everyone off of the Wheel. The idea that she couldn’t detect that her dependable operative had a side job bothers her as well. As they enter the ship, she sees the Mando pull his helmet off, revealing the familiar green eyes of Fenn Shysa. Instead of their usual snark and warmth, those eyes, so familiar on another of his relations, are filled with remorse and fear, as Tehlen cries out.

“ _Cyar’ika_ —,” he starts.

“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me, you old bastard. If you hadn’t been climbing on me all of the time, I wouldn’t be in this shape. This is your fault.”

In spite of her concern of how they will survive, Ahsoka laughs at his expression.

“You didn’t exactly fight me off, darlin’,” he says darkly. “As a matter of fact, I recall quite a few times you climbed on me.”

“As much as I am enjoying the discussion of my _buir_ , and his inability to keep it in his pants, we need to get the hell out of here,” the young Twi’lek says. As if to punctuate her words, the ship shakes with blasterfire on the hull.

“Well,” Fenn says. “Who the hell’s going to see to my _ad_ being born? I don’t know anything about this. I’m just involved in the production, rather than the completion.”

“Yeah, well, that probably took about five seconds,” Face says.

Both apparent Shysas look at Ahsoka.

She shakes her head. “Don’t look at me. I’ll see about getting us out of here.” _Jedi emergency medical training doesn’t exactly cover this_ , she does not add.

They hear a throat clear. “Uhh, I guess it might be me,” Lando says. “I helped my aunt with this.”

“Great,” Tehlen gasps out. “All these well-trained, high speed fighters and I get stuck with the grifter helping me bear my first-born.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, darlin’,” the father says as he pulls Lando and her over to the dejarik table.

Ahsoka turns to Face. “You want to fly, or shoot?”

“Shoot,” she says. “I can’t fly for shit. Plus, all this happy birthing talk makes me want to blow things up.”

Ahsoka shakes her head as the woman heads to the turret. “Great track record on your network, Tano,” she whispers to herself. “You have an oversized clone with a child who’re looking for her Jedi mother, and now, yet another smartass who seems to be connected to every criminal and mercenary in the Outer Rim.”

As she fights the feeling of familiarity in the ship, she spies a pile of clothing and bits of yarn and buttons that only serves to increase the feeling. She suppresses it as she climbs into the pilot’s chair. She suppresses it further by thinking about the rest of her network. Her heart swells as she thinks of a disparate group of Corellians and pirates who have wormed their way into that frozen part of her.

Especially the other bearer of those Shysa green eyes.

~=~=~=~=~=

Lando Calrissian kneels down where Tehlen Skirata-Shysa lies on the dejarik table, covered with and laying on clean sheets that Fenn had managed to find. He takes a deep breath, trying to recall what he had done when his aunt had unexpectedly gone into labor.

Of course, his aunt had not been armed with two WESTAR blasters within easy reach. His uncle had not been armed with a matching pair of blasters and other assorted weaponry, not to mention looking at him like a new species of parasite, either. He reaches up to Tehlen’s shoulders and makes sure that the makeshift straps that keep her secured to the table are secure, as well as the pillows piled up behind her.

He feels the ship lift off, and immediately begin to shift right and left as it tries to clear the Wheel. The ship shudders as energy bolts strike the shields from the fixed guns in the hangar.

“Hey, do you think you can fly straight for a bit? I need some calm,” he yells at the cockpit tunnel.

The reply is not suitable for polite company’s consumption.

He looks at Fenn. “Could you hold her down, maybe brace her some more? I think we are in for a rough ride.”

After a moment, Fenn nods. His expression softens. “You’re doing fine, kid. That girl in the cockpit seemed to be okay with you doing this. That makes it okay with me.”

“Who is she?” he asks, unable to resist.

“Someone who means a great deal to my only surviving blood kin—my nephew.” He looks at the cockpit tunnel. “They would go, and have gone through hell for one another.”

Lando nods. He takes another deep breath and lifts up the sheet covering Tehlen’s middle.

~=~=~=~=~=

The young woman known as the Face, adopted into an ancient clan of Mandalorian warriors, settles into the gunner’s seat on the single quad turret. With a start, as she activates the targeting system and charges the weapons, she realizes they have lifted off and cleared the magnetic shield of the hangar clusters.

Her targeting screen beeps with at least three small arrowhead icons. _Pity your little slicing trick couldn’t do anything about those damned picket ships._

Her display feeds her information about the oncoming ships. Z-95 Headhunters. Clone Wars era escort/interceptors. Designed to attack enemy bombers or protect friendlies.

 _Perfect to attack this barge_ , she thinks. She opens fire between the three targets to let them know that they might want to take care. She curses as the freighter jinks down and then to the left, just as she lines up on one of them.

She lays down a barrage of fire as the three fighters break away from each other.

A bellow of pain from below assaults her ears.

“Could you stop jerking around? I am trying to deliver a baby here,” comes Lando’s voice, the strain evident.

Fulcrum’s reply is lost to Face. She is fairly certain that it is something uncomplimentary to the young con artist’s manhood and parentage.

She shakes her head as she tries to line up a shot. The pilot yaws away from her concentrated fire and returns a volley of their own.

A panel explodes near Face’s arm, sending hot shards of metal and plastic into her skin. She grits her teeth against the pain, but settles into moving the sighting reticule onto the lead Z-95. Her finger moves to the trigger.Just as the freighter climbs straight up. There is another scream from below, then silence.

A faint high-pitched mewling can be heard just as the ship dives again. The gunner smiles softly at the baby’s increasing volume. The next climb brings a fighter directly into her sights.

Face fires a quick burst, striking a Z-95 on its wing, sending it spiraling into its fellow. “Glad to see all of your fancy so-called flying is good for something,” she says into the pickup.

“Well, you try evasive flying while trying to get a hyperspace jump calculated and refraining from dumping a biter onto the deck.”

A muffled curse from the mother of the biter demonstrates to Fulcrum that she might not have been totally successful.

“Hang on,” Fulcrum shouts. Face looks up, just in time to see the stars hyphenate, then lengthen into streaks.

Face slumps as the darkness is replaced with the spiraling chaos of hyperspace.

She unstraps and begins to climb down from the turret.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka walks out from the cockpit a half hour later and walks to Tehlen’s side. She gasps as she sees the little bundle, feeding hungrily at the mother’s breast.

“Meet your Corellian’s cousin,” Fenn Shysa says. He looks down with intense pride at his new son.

Ahsoka smiles at the gentleness with which he touches Tehlen’s tired face. She looks over at Lando, who is slumped next to the makeshift birthing chair, his head between his knees.

The parents tear their eyes away from the boy and each other. They both take in the midwife and the pilot with their gaze. Tehlen lifts the boy away from her breast as he finishes and burps him. Without warning, she hands him to Ahsoka.

Ahsoka nearly recoils as the unfamiliar weight fills her arms. She manages not to drop him.

“He has been named and claimed as my son, my girl,” Fenn says. “Meet your namesake. Tano Calrissian Shysa.”

“Fenn,” she starts, shaking her head.

He places his fingers on her lips. “Hush, _Ahs’ika_ ,” he whispers, out of earshot of Lando. “You mean the world to us both. Especially for saving my useless nephew’s life. For giving him purpose again.”

Her eyes tear as she looks down at the boy. She reaches into a pouch at her belt and pulls out a tiny object.

A tiny, stuffed bantha-like object. Made from the spare socks, yarn, and other odds and ends, while sitting in the cockpit, trying to remember how she knew how to make the toy.

She lets her tears flow as she looks down at her namesake.

Ahsoka knows that Lando is watching her; is treated to another side of the her as she holds the boy. Her blue eyes are fixed on the twisted stars in the viewport as she looks at the bundle, as well as the homemade toy. She doesn’t see the chaos.

~=~=~=~=~=

Tehlen comes out of the tiny cabin, moving gingerly after several hours of sleep. Face, her erstwhile adopted stepdaughter, had curled up next to her and slept. Fenn had taken over the cockpit watch.

She stops and smiles at an unexpected sight.

Ahsoka Tano sits on the couch, young Tano in her arms, still calm and asleep.

Lando Calrissian, who had risen to the challenge of bringing the young boy into the world, rests against Ahsoka’s arm, as asleep as the other two.

Her eyes widen as she hears a slight moan from Ahsoka. Her eyes seem to be moving under her lids.

Tehlen reaches down and gently takes Tano from her arms. As she does, the new mother hears two words from Ahsoka’s lips.

“ _Elle! No_!”

A name that means nothing to Tehlen, but is spoken with such pain in the young woman’s high voice.


	23. The Enclave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep, dark memories. A new day for Stornan.

**Chalacta**  
**1.5 Years after the Fall of the Republic**

Ahsoka steps out of her shuttle on the edge of the landing field, near the small town. She turns away from the town and looks into the middle distance, across fertile fields. Her focus sharpens on the large stone and wood structure on the other side of the neat fields. A dozen or so figures toil in those fields. She smiles as she hears the melodious voices rise in song.

She checks her datapad. _The Collective of the Adept-Apostates_.

“May be committing some apostasy yourself, Snips.” she whispers. For what seems like the millionth time, the recall of a nickname causes her mind and heart to twist in pain. As always, her mind tracks down the list.

 _Runt_ recalls warm green eyes and a crooked grin, whose owner had moved beyond fellow-Force user. _‘Soka,_ instantly reminds her of the patient, dry tones of a Kamino-born and war-bred Captain, who had put her in her place as a young shiny, then had grown to follow her and trust her.

She thinks of her new nickname—a nickname to hide her identity as she moves across the galaxy, trying to help anyone and everyone fight against the darkness. _Fulcrum_. A codename already whispered in far corners of the galaxy. She grins. _Might be losing it soon, since you didn’t let Bail know you were coming here_. Coming to a world outside of the Outer Rim, known for its spiritual people. One that may harbor a being who has a deeper connection to the universe around her. One like her own.

Ahsoka realizes that she has walked all the way to the fields. “Great, dumbass. Great way to get yourself ended,” she whispers to herself. She starts as she realizes that the workers in the fields are looking at her curiously. An older woman, her calm serenity recalling Shaak Ti, approaches her.

The woman dips her head, bringing her hand to her forehead. Ahsoka realizes that there are two scars there, where others of her people would have jewels. Jewels of enlightenment of the Chalactan Adepts. Two would indicate that this woman had once held the highest rank.

She mimics the gesture.

“Greetings, stranger,” the woman says. “Welcome to the Collective of the Adept-Apostates. You are welcome as a guest, or as one who wishes to learn the mysteries of the world around us, without the artificial enlightenments of a cult. I am the Mother.”

Ahsoka raises her eyebrow marking at the solipsistic words. She doesn’t engage, knowing she looks for something rather than meaning. “Thank you. I’m just passing through. I am actually looking for a friend of mine.”

“Oh, and who is this friend?”

Ahsoka takes a deep breath. “It may be someone who I haven’t seen in a long time. She was described to me as a Chalactan. A young woman with a child.” She looks away.

“There are many young Chalactans here with children.” the Mother replies, her dark eyes growing suspicious.

Fulcrum backs away. She holds out her hands in a peacemaking gesture. “I am sorry. I don’t have many friends left, like this. Another friend told me that she might have a device on her belt that is very old,”

The Mother’s eyes return to their calm. “I’ll be sure to ask around, my dear,” she says. She turns away and begins to walk away.

Ahsoka curses softly. She looks apologetic at the sharp look of one of the workers. She thinks of the message she had gotten from one of her growing network of knowledge seekers and finders. A young Mandalorian woman, who she had never seen, but had provided good intel on Imperials before.

Especially on issues of slaves. Once she had established a bit of trust, if one with anonymity on both sides, it was easy to expand the parameters of the information search. To any of those who had characteristics of surviving Order 66–the slaughter of the Jedi. She recalls the description from the information-seeker—a description that could only be a lightsaber on the young woman’s belt, opposite the hip she carried the small child.

She sighs and turns back to the town. She had passed a small watering hole in the town. It was time for something other than ration paste. As she walks away, a pair of dark blue eyes follows her. An observer who knew the owner of those eyes might see a spark of recognition in them.

The observer touches the lightsaber on her hip. Her right hand rests on another legacy of her past. A DC-17 clone blaster. Given to her by a hulking, gruff example of those brothers. A man who was surprisingly gentle when he touched her. Surprising to all but her.

She looks down at the face of her daughter playing in the dirt, who looks up at her and grins.

Elle Jaquindo’s heart leaps at the resemblance to that gentle soldier. A resemblance to another young girl, slightly older, as well. She reaches down and pulls the girl into her arms, with only a slight protest from the dirty, but familiar face. She kisses the little one and pulls her tight into an embrace.

~=~=~=~=~=

The Mother walks over to where Elle is watching the Togruta. “You saw?” she asks the young woman.

“Yes.”

“It may be nothing, Lan,” the Mother says, using the name that Elle had assumed, when she had arrived and had woken from her injuries.

“No. I know her. From before.”

The Mother knows not to ask more of her. “Do you want me to send some of our allies to persuade her to leave?”

The woman know as Lan Ven, names from two dead friends, smiles. “No. I doubt anyone could persuade this stubborn young woman of anything if she has her mind set.” Elle picks up her daughter and kisses her on the tip of her nose. The little girl giggles. “You could take my little womp rat here to the ship. Just in case.”

“Do you want me to let the old man know?”

Elle rolls her eyes. “No. I’m sure the snooping old bastard knows about her already.”

As the Mother leaves, Elle’s mind travels back to the past.

~=~=~=~=~=

“You little snot. I told you to only use Form III. Not go off on some damned Djem So tangent.”

“Maybe if you could keep up, maybe we could do more than stay on the defensive.”

“You watch your mouth, Tano or....”

“Or what, Elle?” comes a quiet voice from the back of the room.

Both combatants whirl. The rest of the room breathes a sigh of relief.

Elle looks away as Taliesin Croft approaches both. He sighs. He turns to Ahsoka. “Runt, I’ve told you before. You have to obey any Padawan who’s training you. No matter if you agree with her or not. You don’t question in front of other students. You ask your questions respectfully when you are alone.”

“But—.” She sees his eyes. She turns and bows to Elle. “My apologies, Padawan Jaquindo. I meant no disrespect.”

To her credit Elle doesn’t snort or roll her eyes. She nods briefly. Ahsoka bows to Taliesin and turns and exits. The other younglings follow.

He turns to Elle. “What is it with you, Elle? Why must you treat those younger than you like that?” His eyes are hard. He sees the defensiveness arise.

Then fall, with her shoulders. She says nothing. He reaches over and touches her cheek. “Tol and Lan know how loving and patient you can be. So do I. Why can’t you show that side to anyone else?”

She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. Tano in particular brings it out in me. She’s so impatient with what I try to teach her.”

He shakes his head. “No, love. She’s eager to learn. You have to teach her, not go through some set guidebook and check off various tasks.”

She rests her forehead against his. “How did you get so wise, Taliesin? she says with a smile. “I’m pretty sure that I held your brain in my hand last night, in the meditation room.” The smile turns into a wicked grin. “Among other places.” Her hand ghosts to his groin.

“Just learned the hard way, love,” he says. He reaches down and kisses her gently. “You feel like any brain-handling tonight?” he asks with a grin.

“I thought you and Tol were ‘studying’ tonight,” she replies, holding her hands up, the fingers mimicking quotes.

“Always room for a third,” he says. His hooded look gives her both meanings.

His face disappears with the past as he leans in for a kiss, as well as her two dead friends. Their friends and lovers.

Her heart twists as she realizes again that he, after surviving some of the hardest campaigns with his commandos, including her Sergeant, is most likely dead, as well.

She turns towards the town.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka’s stomach is rumbling with the anticipation of bad bar food. She grins at something that Taliesin Croft had said before. _Anything’s better than even good Republic ration paste or sticks._

She curses as the memories well. Up until a few months ago, she had managed to keep her dreams and the memories at bay, as she tried to hide and find her purpose. They had all come back with a rush after Raada. She had silenced them, or at least suppressed them, by keeping moving. By staying busy in her new job.

As she is about to enter the fine establishment, she hears raised voices. “You’re a damned fool, you old bastard. You owe me money for those spice permits I arranged for you,” comes a deep voice. A large young Chalactan, his clothes a mix of laborer and businessman stares down at a slightly shorter, but much less bulkier human. The Chalactan’s double jewels quiver in his forehead.

“Just because you call yourself the Mayor, doesn’t mean you can boss me around, Asri,” says the older human male.

“Yeah, Showim. You’ve been spending too much time with those free-loading freaks at their little zoo,” he said.

Something about the name tweaks a memory. Ahsoka shakes her head as her stomach rumbles.

In a quick quarter hour, she is enjoying a large glass of that dark, spicy Mando ale; a favorite that does little to quell the fire in her gut. Fire she hasn’t felt in months. She grins as she tears through the plate of nuna wings. A shadow falls over her table. She allows her expression to grow thunderous as the old fool from the argument sits down. Her eyes widen as she sees his face clearly.

She is transported back to a time when she was eight years old. A much younger, and kindlier version of the face, splints her broken arm after a disagreement with one of the higher tree limbs in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

She sighs, moving the hand not occupied with a particularly fiery wing to a small hidden compartment in her flight jacket. “I’d like to eat in peace,” she says.

“Kind of hard to do with our kind these days,” he says.

“What do you mean, our kind?” she asks.

“Don’t play the innocent with me, girl,” he says, his slightly demented eyes focusing sharply on her. “I have an idea what you are. Kinda fuzzy on who you are. Kinda young for a knight, though. Padawan?”

“Neither. Didn’t get a chance.”

His eyes widen in recognition. “Ahh. Yes. So you’re that Padawan. Don’t know the full story. Don’t care. You need to march your skinny ass back to your ship and get the hell out of here. There are people here I want to keep safe. An actual functioning Force-sensitive might bring harm on them.”

“Oh, yeah? Don’t know how I could do much more than you, old man. Picking fights with the local government. Good way to stay off the Imps’ sensors.”

“It’s clearer now. I know you. I treated you. You were a smartassed little shit who broke her arm falling out of some place she wasn’t supposed to be.”

She grins. “Yeah, well I remember you as a kind healer who helped me stop crying.”

He slumps. “That healer is dead,” he whispers.

She nods, calming. “I know who you are and what you did. Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

“Maybe. But there’s someone I want you to meet. Someone who might be my salvation, or at least the start of it. Go out to the biggest trees. There’s an old YT-1000 parked out there. The person you’re looking for is there.” He looks down. “She won’t be able to help you that much, though.”

She pays for her meal, swallows the last of her ale. She starts to pull her poncho on to leave, but stops at his voice.

“I lied, young one. You were very sweet and brave. I didn’t have to do much to stop your crying.” He pats her shoulder awkwardly.

She can only nod as she turns away.

After a moment, Garda Showim gets up and walks to the bar. He pockets the medical sample collector. She had felt nothing on the bare skin of her shoulder with the mild anesthetic.“Damned Jedi,” he mutters.

As he passes a table, Mayor Asri’s ears perk up. He smiles a cadaver-like smile. He drops a coin on the table and walks out, pulling his comm out as he does.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka shakes her head as she leaves the town along the path that the crazy old healer— _Showim—that’s his name_ —had directed her.

It only takes a few moments for her to make the trip. As she closes to the large trees, she senses a presence. No Force presence, but one very much alive in the Force. Alive, but not whole.

A hooded figure steps from behind a tree. Ahsoka’s blaster is already out, as well as a lightsaber.

Her eyes widen as she sees that the figure has the same weapons out, with the saber in her right and the blaster in her left.

They stand looking at one another. The figure moves the blaster and saber to her belt, then slowly raises her hands and pulls her hood back.

Ahsoka starts to unwind the scarf. They soon stand, their faces bared to one another.

They each can see the pain and memories playing over each other’s faces.

“Hello, Elle,” Ahsoka says quietly.

Elle nods. “You’ve grown a lot, Ahsoka,” she says.

~=~=~=~=~=

The Captain of the Imperial Stardestroyer _Relentless_ watches the stars from the bridge of the old _Venator_ class warship, a veteran of the earliest fighting of the Clone War. She knows that these old ships are being supplanted by the _Imperial_ class. She shakes her head at the passage of time.

Soon she herself will be supplanted by these New Imperials. She hears a cleared throat behind her. She turns and nods at her communications officer. She allows a warm smile for the veteran. A veteran with the face of millions. One of the few clones left with the Imperial navy.

“A transmission from an official on Chalacta has been routed to us. He says that he heard a local troublemaker mention that there were Jedi near his town.”

The Captain closes her eyes. After a moment, she opens them. “Well, it’s official. We’ll have to send it up the chain.”

She turns to the XO and the Stormtrooper Commander as they walk up. “Chalacta only has naval provost guards. As much as it pains me to say it, they’re no match for a Jedi. Prepare to jump to Chalacta.”

The Captain turns back to the comm officer. “I guess there is no getting out of it. Signal the Inquisitorius on Coruscant. I guess Lord Vader will want to give some of his new pets some free rein.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka’s arms are around the little girl who sits in her lap at the dejarik table. She knows Elle is watching her as she inhales the little-girl scent from the dark mass of hair under her chin.

Faith is quiet as she looks mournfully at a the head of a store-bought stuffed tooka. All that remains. A memory stirs from Ahsoka’s past. Of watching the creche and its youngest Jedi.

Duty assigned by her clan-master for a particularly snarky comment during lightsaber practice. She grins. Taliesin Croft had first been assigned to Clawmouse after Shaak Ti, his mostly patient master, had filled her quota of Croft for the week. Her eyes light on a pile of clothing on the seat next to her. Clothing ready to be discarded. She reaches over with her free hand and pulls two dark brown socks from the pile. A fringed shawl is taken next.

Without a word, Elle places a needle and thread near her.

Ahsoka wraps her arms around Faith and begins to work, using hands that are much bigger, but perhaps more deft than her pre-teenaged hands.

The little girl looks up at her, a look of skepticism in her dark eyes. Ahsoka’s heart flips as she realizes that she has seen those eyes before. Looking at her with a mixture of snark and patience. Eyes looking at her hunt-brother with the same snark, as well as respect. _No. There had been respect for her, as well_.She looks up at Elle. The Chalactan, who had been a bane of her existence in their past life, smiles knowingly at her. “Yes. She is Drop’s. All his. All mine. Different from her older sister, but both of them are equally loved.”

Ahsoka smiles. “I miss Drop. In his own way, he taught me as much as my own Captain and my brothers of the 501st did.” She sees Elle look away.

“What?” she asks gently.

“The 501st. They stormed the Temple that night. They—,” she starts.

Ahsoka nods knowingly. “I heard. I can only hope that Anakin was dead before he knew. It would’ve broken his heart.”

They are both quiet, the only sounds in the freighter’s lounge the soft movement’s of Ahsoka’s hands as she moves with needle and thread.

“Do you know if he and your other daughter survived?”

Elle continues to watch Ahsoka’s hands, just as Faith does. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “I have pulled this world in after me. I think it might be time to look. But Garda doesn’t want to.”

“What is he to you, Elle? He doesn’t seem like he’s a huge help.”

Elle’s eyes flash for a moment. She nods. “No. Not much. But he saved me at the Temple. He could’ve run, but he came back for me.”

“How come I don’t feel you in the Force? I sense your life, but not your signature,” Ahsoka asks.

“Garda used one of his last experiments on me. It robbed me of my Force connection. Unlike him, I can’t get it back with his little antidotes he can use for himself for short periods of time.

Ahsoka’s anger rises. She is about to get up, but Elle puts her left hand on her arm, then her cheek.

Ahsoka stops as she feels the unyielding surface under the glove. She stops her sewing and takes the hand in hers. She had felt a hard hand like that before. Usually on her shoulders, or adjusting her stance as she was taught. She pulls the glove off, exposing the dark metal of the electrobionic appendage. Dark rather than shiny and metallic. Her thumbs massage the palm.

Something she had never been able to do for Anakin.

Elle moves the hand back to Ahsoka’s cheek. Her fingers move on the wing marking. “You have grown so much, Ahsoka. Not just in size. I see so much compassion in you. I was too stubborn to recognize anything but the snark in you. Too wrapped up in myself. I should’ve seen what Tal saw.”

Ahsoka Smirks against the cold metal. “Well, maybe there was too much snark, then. Tal took every opportunity to remind me.”

“Your trial. Your leaving. I wasn’t there, but it tore Tal apart.”

Ahsoka’s eyes close. “I know. I saw him a few months later.” She looks away, in order to not betray the emotions from that visit. When she looks at Elle again, she is smiling for the first time. She nods knowingly at Ahsoka.

Ahsoka realizes that she has finished her project. She offers it to Faith, who eyes it. The former tooka head is attached to the front of the pair of socks, stuffed into each other. The fringe from the former shawl has decorated the creature.

It resembles a demented Bantha.

Faith takes the toy in her arms and hugs it to her. She turns around in Ahsoka’s arms and brings her arms, with Took the Bantha in her hands, around her.

Ahsoka feels the tears well in her eyes as the girl kisses her cheek. A whispered _tank you_ is heard in her montrals. Elle stands up and takes her from Ahsoka’s arms as the little girl knuckles her eyes. She takes her to the next room.

When she returns, Elle is openly crying. Ahsoka gets up and walks to where she stands. She takes her into her arms. It is her turn to touch Elle’s cheeks. She kisses the Chalactan’s cheek gently. “I will help you find him, if I can, love,” she says.

Her mind is reeling with possibilities. Possibilities raised by her Mando contact, who desires to help people. Something about balancing a ledger. Her tears mix with Elle’s as she thinks of Croft and his love for his brothers. Of Anakin and his. Of her love for them, even as they tried to kill her.

She nods to herself. _For Tal and Anakin_.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka feels more at ease than she has in months as she walks to her shuttle. She wonders how she would convince Bail to let her find lost brothers and save them.

She looks up as the Mother comes running up to her breathlessly. She puts her hand on her shoulder to steady the older woman.

“The Empire,” she says between gasps. “They are coming in force.”

The Mother finds herself alone as the young woman begins to run with almost supernatural speed to the settlement.

~=~=~=~=~=

The dark lord watches as the enclave of the Apostates burns. He spares a single glance for the crumpled figure in the gravel of the path between the town and the enclave. His gaze moves over to the figures lying against a berm, a man and a woman, their hands bound. Their bodies pierced by laser blasts.

He senses a much smaller figure walk up to him, her ever-present probe droids floating above her shoulders. Her helmet opens, revealing a sharp-featured face with tattoos slashing the even lines. He waits for a sarcastic comment, but thankfully she refrains.

 _Good. I think that I have removed enough appendages today, with three_.

“Lord Vader, the troops have completed double sweeps of the town and surrounding fields. We find no evidence of Jedi, other than this one. Everyone in the village seems to be surprised that he was a Jedi, given how foolish and usually drunken that he acted.”

“The members of the enclave that appeared to harbor him have disappeared. There was evidence of a ship in a clearing near here, but it is gone. There was also a small, hyperdrive equipped shuttle that arrived a few days ago. There was no registration required.”

“Did the Navy detect any ships leaving?”

“No, my lord. There were some sensor anomalies on approach to the planet.”

He nods without turning.

“What are your orders for the town? Should we destroy it, as well?”

He is silent. The Inquisitor waits patiently, desiring to keep what appendages that were her own that remained.

“No. Output says they are profitable and producing. Increase their quotas. Leave a garrison of stormtroopers here. If they have not reached the new quotas within one month from today, tell them to execute the Mayor.”

The Seventh Sister bows and turns away.

Darth Vader contemplates the corpse of the healer. An Apostate Jedi himself, who had settled in a colony of apostates from this world. The man could’ve been useful to the Empire, but he had made his choice. The Sith raises his electronic eyes again and fixes the sight of the intense fire of the wood and stone structure in his gaze.

The darkness rises on this tranquil world.

~=~=~=~=~=

Bail Organa turns as his wife walks into the room. He tries to paint a smile on his face as she pulls him into arms. Breha’s dark eyes light on the comm display. A display with decrypted Aurabesh words flashing at them mockingly.

_Fulcrum. Submerge._

Below those words, another message flashes.

_No transmission received on this frequency._

It had been the same for the last ten-day.

“You have to give her time, love,” the Queen says. “It is the reason we set up the submerge protocols. We knew she might have to go deep.”

After a moment, she feels him nod against her head. “I know,” he whispers.

Breha breaks away, looking up at him. “There is something else, isn’t there?”

“You know me too well, Bre,” he says. He takes a deep breath. “I am thinking about her Master. In a lot of ways she is so much like him.”

“You’re afraid that she might turn?”

Again, the silence from above her. “No. She doesn’t have the raw anger that he does. She has his compassion, but not the anger. But I’m wary of her recklessness. She seems to have calmed down, but it has only been six months since she started and she has already had to go deep.

“I trust her,” he says, as if trying to reassure himself. Breha smiles. “But I think that we need someone to insulate us from any fallout. Someone who, while working for the government, but be able to move more freely, could be disavowed if needed. Someone to be Fulcrum’s handler.”

She nods. She can feel her eyes growing sad.

“I think that I will have to instruct this handler that they are to keep Ahsoka’s identity secret, above all else. Even to people that she might’ve known from before, at least for now. Skywalker is proof that people can change, especially after all that has happened.” He pauses, as if gathering himself. “Her identity is sacrosanct. For her protection, and yours and Leia’s, my love.”

 _And yours_ , she thinks, but does not say. Breha touches his cheek. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

“No. Right now, you, me, Sabe’ and Gregar Typho know her by her former name, that Ahsoka Tano is still alive. Sabe’ is an excellent bodyguard for Leia; I’d like to keep her in that role.”

“What about Typho?”

He shakes his head. “Same reason, but also he has requested that he not be involved any further in the movement, except for protecting the royal family. He will protect us unto death, but he is conflicted with his uncle, Quarsh Panaka, serving as the Moff of the Chommel sector. He feels he could endanger us with that connection.”

Breha nods. “Then who?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to keep our eyes and ears open. It may take awhile.”

She pulls him down to her again, as they think of the light, somewhere in the darkness.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka wakes gently as her memories cascade. She realizes that her head rests on Lando’s shoulder. She jumps up, then calms. They are both fully clothed, and their hands are away from any sensitive areas. She grins sheepishly as she realizes she has drooled on his shoulder. She slides away from him. On impulse, she reaches down and kisses his forehead. He stirs, murmuring slightly.

She stands, then wavers a bit. She closes her eyes to steady herself. She looks around the crew lounge of the ship. She takes a deep breath as her memories of that lost five days flows back, like a gentle waterfall over a slight elevation. At least some of them. She feels like she is missing some parts, perhaps the in-between times.

The important ones are present, as she remembers Elle Jaquindo. Her beautiful daughter. She smiles as the memories of her almost forgotten skill at stuffed-bantha making flow back to her. _If I ever need a marketable skill_ , she thinks.

Fenn Shysa ambles in, Ahsoka’s namesake in his arms. The boy is awake and alert, watching everything with those green eyes that cut through her with their familiarity.

“Tehlen fed him when he woke. He’s burped, changed, and clean; he’s reasonably sweet smelling. Could you take him while I look in on the navicomputer on this crate?”

Without waiting for a reply, T-Cal is placed on her shoulder. She moves him to rest in her arms, so that she can look down at him. He stares back at her. Her eyes tear at those warm, searching eyes, even at a few hours old. She imagines a mischievous gleam in them as the baby smiles and coos at her, his darker skin flushing.

She bends down and whispers in his ear. “Yes, my lad, I think you’re going to be breaking hearts right and left with those eyes. Use your powers wisely.” T-Cal doesn’t reply, merely blows a spit-bubble in her direction. _Working on me, already_ , she thinks. _Just like your cousin._

She wonders if this is a close approximation of what Bryne’s son Shak would have looked like if he had survived to be born. She had caught glimpses of the boy in her Force sense, but the avatar had been older. _Maybe. Might need that damned crooked Corellian grin, though, to be complete._

“You look like a natural,” a bright voice says.

Ahsoka turns to the far side of the compartment. Face stands in the hatchway, clad in an oversized white dress shirt, that stands out against her red skin. Tchin and tchun are unbound

“No. They sense fear. Worse than some of the Force-users I’ve met.”

The almost black eyes roll, as she walks over. She kisses her foster brother on his forehead, then to Ahsoka’s surprise, reaches up and kisses her.

“You okay?” Face asks. “You seemed like you were pretty deep in a dream when I walked out.”

“I’m okay. Just memories.”

“Any good ones?”

Ahsoka stops at that. She is sure that the story that Tessika had told of the deaths she had witnessed referred to Garda and the Mother, as well as the Mother’s husband. But the fact that Elle and Faith were both alive nearly two years after Order 66 had to count as good. Especially since she knows that Drop is alive.

“Some,” is all that she says. She shakes her head. “So what’s next for you, Face?” she asks.

Face smiles. “Depends on where my boss tells me to go,” she says.

“Not really your boss. I just give you what you need and try to keep you from killing yourself.” She starts as she remembers Nola Vorserrie telling her something similar. She doesn’t add what Nola had included in her version. _Being your boss would be like trying to shove a Bantha into a engine-intake. For an escape pod._

Ahsoka feels a warm hand on her cheek. “Well, since you’re not my boss, does that mean that I can tell you what I really need?” Face says with a hooded look.

Ahsoka manages not to blush at the forwardness. _What the hell is it with you, Tano? Are you all that damned irresistible? You can fend off a Zeltron when you need to. Mostly_. “Don’t you supposedly have a husband on that pirate ship?”

“Yeah, but we can’t spend more than three days in each other’s presence without killing each other.” She softens. “Think I’m due for a visit, though.”

Ahsoka shifts T-Cal to her right shoulder, where he breathes easily, falling into sleep. She brings her left arm around Face’s shoulder, pulling her close. She leans into the younger woman’s earcones.

“How’d you like to run a world for me? Place called Stornan.”

Face’s eyes narrow. “Depends. What’s it like?”

“Oh, not bad. Farm world. Full of belligerent Mandos and currently run by TaggeCo. Also, it has a higher than normal ratio of idiots. Ask your ‘mom.’ She used to be the Protector there.”

“Dangerous?”

“Nothing major. I nearly died there a couple of times. Including at the hands and blade of your hubby.”

Face reaches over and kisses her again on the cheek. “You really know how to charm a girl, don’t you, Fulcrum?” she says dryly.


	24. Epilogue: Currents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things come together. A new path.

Dek Antilles, now known as Doctor Thorsan to most, stands up straight. He bends backwards as far as he can, until he can hear the satisfying crack of his spinal vertebrae. He looks down as the young boy is lifted off of his treatment table. Another youngling that would see his teenaged years after his work. Dek places his palm over his hazel eyes, then slowly allows them to move down over his face, over the thicker beard.

A vaccine based on genetic enhancement tailored to each patient had been the breakthrough for the rare lung disease. He only hopes that unwanted guests would not hear of the breakthroughs in treatment and come calling. Hopefully they were deep enough into Wild Space that the Empire wouldn’t bother, especially since a number of techniques had been tested at a now-destroyed Imperial ‘refugee’ camp. One in which a number of Togruta had been dying due to their reaction to an agent that kept them docilized.

He grins. Those Togruta included a young woman who had insisted she was not a Jedi, just before she leapt from the ground to a rising Imperial light cruiser. Not five minutes after she had been dying from the affliction.

He had wound up treating her again, this time for a misadventure involving another _Arquitens_ -class light cruiser. An injury involving horrific burns. He looks up. His new assistant, the numerous tattoos on her neck and upper chest visible through her tank top walks up.

“That seems to be the last one, Dek,” she says. “Take a break.”

“No, got some—,” he starts. A look into her chilling aquamarine eyes tells him that it might be advisable to take a break. “Okay,” he says, bowing to the inevitable. “I think I may go for a swim. Come get me if I am needed,” he finishes.

Her eyes grow a bit warmer. “I might come and get you, if it means you’re swimming without a suit.” The laughter and snark of the last few weeks was a welcome change to the brooding snappish, borderline homicidal young woman of before.

“You might get a show, Rhose,” he says. On impulse, he reaches over and kisses her on her cheek. She blushes with embarrassment as he turns.

His walk, disrobing, and dive into the world’s main ocean, take all of five minutes. Dek had always enjoyed swimming. Diving to the bottom of a deep lake or ocean, holding his breath for as long as he could, had always served to center him.

Today was no exception until he came up for air.

A near familiar voice causes him to whirl around to the beach. “Thought you weren’t coming up, nerd,” the voice says.

Only one person calls him that, but not in that unfamiliar, provincial accent. A tall figure stands on the rocky sand. Dek feels his heart race. He manages to find his feet on the bottom and let them propel him to the beach.

He stops just before he reaches the figure, taking in changes.

The figure’s eyebrows, above his night-black eyes, are now the only hair on his head or face.

The angry red scar below where his hairline had been is more prominent, but somehow less angry.

Dek reaches out and touches Dav Kolan’s face, tracing where the mustache had drooped over his upper lip with his thumb.

Kolan grins. “I could say something about a naked god rising from the sea, but I’ll refrain.”

Dek replaces his thumb with his lips. He manages to keep standing when the Imperial’s hand ghosts over his cock. The scientist breaks free. “I could say something about missing your mustache when we kiss, or on other places, but I’ll refrain as well,” he says. He rests his wet forehead against Kolan’s. “How long are you here for, love?” he asks, dreading the answer.

It is Kolan’s turn to kiss him, deeply. “Forever, if you’ll have me.”

Dek’s hazel eyes grow large. “Do you mean it? How?” he stammers.

“Kinda burned some bridges at work,” Dav says. “May have to go back to fix things, but I’m here to stay.” He grins. “Thanks to a certain smart-assed Naboo fixer who works for your family, I’m dead.”

“Yeah, well, sailor. Been dead a bit myself. Maybe we’ll start over together.”

Kolan’s response is to pull him down into the surf. Kolan’s clothes are soon off, thrown up on the beach beyond the tideline.

From the dune nearest the small medical camp, Rhose Zan Arbor turns away as she sees the two figures meld. She closes her eyes as she remembers the sadness on Saw Gererra’s face, as he and his partisans abandoned her on that Hutt hellhole. They had left her armor in a pile next to her, as well as her weapons, sans ammo packs.

He had said nothing as they turned and boarded their ship, leaving her there. She looks down at the single WESTAR in its gunbelt on the table. A symbol of her heritage that she has abandoned.

She remembers the armor—the armor that she had reforged herself, with the help of a young woman with knowing dark eyes and a crooked nose. She remembers looking at her with contempt as the woman told her of her past. Of wanting to bury it.

Rhose remembers the Wren woman’s words. _Don’t be consumed by blind regard for our heritage. See it for what it is. Honor what is powerful, but there’s a lot that can be discarded_.

Words from a woman not much older than she. She had remembered the words as she had walked away, leaving the armor and all but this single blaster and a knife in the pile.

~=~=~=~=~=

Drop watches as the old Corellian freighter flares in for a landing. Beside him, Talle almost dances with excitement at the prospect of seeing Ahsoka again. He turns to the tall Pantoran standing to him.

Lassa smiles at him. “Somebody’s excited,” she says, looking at the little girl.

“Yep,” he says. “Mouse kinda has that affect on people.”

She smiles wistfully. “I know the feeling,” she replies quietly. “Though she can piss me off like no other.”

“I know the feeling there. Her lump of a hunt-brother does that for me, more than Mouse does.”

She nods her head in agreement. “No argument there. The crew had a pool going as to when he would grow an extra hole in his admittedly semi-fine ass.”

He grins at her. “Have you really shot all of those men in the ass? I could see myself shooting Croft, but the GAR might have had a problem with that. Although....,” he says thoughtfully.

“They knew him, right?” she asks.

He nods. “Damn right they did.”

She looks around. She takes a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone. Everybody expects it, but I’ve really only shot two people in the ass.”

His eyes widen. “So it’s all bullshit?”

“A bit. A bit of publicity. Everybody fears the Blood Bone Order. Everybody knows my crew fears me, as do any of our prey. Of course, the people who truly know me can see through the bullshit,” she finishes.

“The first one I shot was my first quartermaster. He cheated our crew and may have gotten a man who I thought of as my mentor hanged. That’s where the legend was born, although I hinted that I’d shot my father before, so that the crew would know they weren’t to deal with him. Or mention him. The second was my father, for real. But, it was an accident. Or at least I think it was. I was so pissed when Lando brought him on board, that I grabbed a new backup blaster. The trigger was a bit touchier than I expected. It went off as soon as I aimed.” She grins. “Made them both run faster.”

She looks at him, a questioning look in her bronze eyes. “Try not to tell anyone, love,” she says. “It helps to have a rep. Plus, I may have to use it one day on Ahsoka or Covenant.”

“Your secret is safe with me, babe,” he says.

Impulsively, she reaches up and kisses him. Both remember a time, when they thought that their Fulcrum was dying, that they had nearly made love.

They had ended up, sleeping together, in each other’s arms, without taking that step.

 _Too many ghosts_ , they had both thought. They glance down to see Talle looking up at them. They both smirk at her eyeroll, as Lando and Ahsoka walk up to them.

Drop feels the temperature drop next to him by at least ten degrees.

“Hello, Lassa,” Lando says.

“Hello, asshole,” she replies.

Drop looks at Ahsoka. Their eyes roll in harmony.

“Could you get over yourself, woman?” Ahsoka says. “He just helped a friend to both of us give birth. I got the money back. Try not to shoot him.”

Lassa’s eyes narrow as Drop snorts. “Maybe,” Lassa says. “So what’s the plan for everybody getting back to where they need to be?” Her eyes take on a hooded look at Ahsoka.

“Well, I was hoping that you could take Junior here, wherever he needs to go, without dropping him out of an airlock. Provided you could either keep your hands off of him, or not shoot him, as the alternatives.”

“Why? You claiming him for yourself?” Lassa snarks.

“No. I already have an adolescent male in my life. One who’s actually eight years or so older than me.”

Drop joins the two women in laughter. Lando looks at the three of them curiously.

All of them turn as Rhayme, Kruvure, Face, and Tessika walk up to them. Their eyes widen as the various hands that are held.

Everyone holds their breath as Lassa eyes her father and the grifter. “I suppose you need a ride, too, you old bastard,” Lassa says.

Sorentin smiles, looks down at his wife, whose eyes are flashing fire at the pirate. “No, dear. One of our family has a semi-legitimate job, now, thanks to your lovely rebel.” He turns the full force of his smile to Ahsoka. “I think we may revisit some ideas of trying to force TaggeCo to see the error of their ways.”

Lando watches as Lassa contemplates this. After a moment, she nods. She turns to Lando. “I suppose I can give you a ride. Just stay the hell out of my way.” Her eyes focus on Ahsoka. “I think somebody might owe me a little something, when she’s on my ship next time.” She smirks. “Might just take it out in trade.”

Ahsoka reaches over and takes her hands. “I look forward to paying you, Captain,” she says. “Can I see Lando for a minute, before you leave?”

Lassa pulls her into a tight embrace. Lando cannot hear what she whispers into Ahsoka’s lek.

They break away. “Don’t take too long. The offer isn’t for forever,” Lassa says to Lando.

She turns and walks away. After a moment, Rhayme breaks away from the other three. They smile as he follows his daughter.

Drop nods at Ahsoka and turns way. As he does, he sees Ahsoka take Lando’s hand in hers. He shakes his head. _Damned soft-headed Jedi._

His smile grows wistful as he remembers the Jedi and former Jedi in his life.

_Soft-hearted as well._

~=~=~=~=~=

Bryne follows Nola into a part of the Palace that he had never been in before. He enters a small room. His eyes widen as he sees Breha and and Bail dressed in formal robes of state. He turns to Nola. He notices that she is her own robe, on. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Gregar Typho stands behind him, his left eye locked onto Covenant. He gives a gentle push.

Bryne walks up to the dais. He notices an ancient blade resting on a cushion, as well as a chain of office.

He bows, unsure of his part in this.

Breha gives a very un-Queen-like grin at him. “When you first took on this responsibility, General,” she says, “I told you of a title on Alderaan that’s similar to yours on your world.” She gestures to the blade. “The Rhindon Sword. A reminder to the heir of Alderaan on their Day of Demand, that sometimes they had to fight their way to the throne. My daughter will take it up in her sixteenth year, along with certain Challenges, to prove herself worthy. But the Rhindon Sword bears a deeper meaning. In ancient times, it was borne by the strongest retainer of the throne. Some would say the purest of heart as well, although we might relax that in your case,” she says to scattered laughter among the tiny audience.

“Together with the Hand and the Viceroy, they were the monarch’s closest advisors.” She beckons him closer.

“I’ve checked with our legates. It’s fitting and legal for me to select a Keeper and Captain-General from another world. Especially one from another Elder Family, who bears a title of Protector. It’s fitting also, since one of the titles that you recently possessed, the Director of Peace and Planetary Security, is a direct descendant from this one.” She takes a deep breath, looks fondly at her husband. “You have returned honor to the title.”

Covenant feels Nola’s hand on his neck. He bows his head again, as she gently pushes. Breha and Bail pick up the chain and place it over his head, to rest on his shoulders. He smiles at the weight.

“Yes, dear Bryne,” Breha whispers. “It is heavy. It is not a reward, but a charge and a challenge. You’ll not protect Alderaan here. We’ll hold that responsibility, along with our new Peacekeeper-General.” She turns and nods silently to Sen M’Faru, who returns the gesture, self-conscious in his new rank.

Breha’s voice lowers, so that only those on the dais can hear. “Rather, you’ll go out among the stars and help the other who isn’t here, but one who will share this responsibility and this office with you. Only those here will know that the position is no longer vacant.” He sees her lock eyes with Bail, then with Nola. “There are those on our world who are questioning our choices—choices of you as the _Mishleh_ , and the choice of our Hand. This will give us the protection of our champions, but will keep those grasping hands away.

“You’ll go places where that other Keeper may not be able to go, with your skills and the title from your world, in order to help us restore the light,” she finishes. “We’ll combat those other threats on Alderaan—threats to the restoration of the light.”

Bryne’s eyes track downward. “I don’t know if I am the one for this, Your Majesty,” he says quietly. “I’ve failed to keep even one of your citizens safe. Or at least her dream.”

He sees Breha look over his shoulder and smile. He senses a like expression from the young woman behind him. “Nola said you’d say that. It proves to us that you’re the person for the job.” She stands on her toes and kisses his cheek. He feels her hands, those of Bail, and those of Nola lift the chain from his neck, placing it in a velvet lined box. Gregar Typho seals the box, then takes it away.

“For your first charge, my Lord Keeper, I charge you with finding our younger sister and telling her that we’ll help her recover her dreams. Or help her find new ones.”

He looks away from her. He feels Nola pull closer to him and take his hand. Her dark eyes are steady as she looks at him.

“I’ll help you in any way. Our Fulcrum, as well, Bryne,” she says quietly. “Whatever you need.” She grins, a hint of the old Nola, the teenager he had helped escape from hell in the last war. “You both need to know that your loved ones are safe.”

As he turns and pulls her into an embrace, he sees Bail and Breha watching both of them.

~=~=~=~=~=

Lando’s eyes widen as he realizes there is a credit chip in the young woman’s slightly cooler hand on his. The original credit chip.

“I took the original 200K off, plus some ‘fuck-you’ money of my own,” she says with a Smirk.

“What’s your name, Fulcrum? That can’t be it. What do you do?”

She smiles at him. “I can’t tell you that, Lando. It isn’t really all that much. I just try to help people find what they can do to fight.”

He rolls his eyes, but lets her get away with it. His eyes soften at the gratitude in hers.

“I can’t tell you my real name, dear. You can call me Jana, if you like.”

He nods. “That’s a beautiful name, for a beautiful woman,” he says. He winces as the words come out of his mouth.

She doesn’t say anything, just reaches over and kisses him. “You remember what I said about trying too hard?”

“Yeah. Knew it almost as soon as I said it. Do you have anyone, Jana?” As he asks, he remembers Shysa’s words about his nephew.

She doesn’t say anything, just looks away, the blue of her lekku stripes oscillating through the spectrum. He nods.

He reaches into his pocket. She sees the datachip in his hand. She takes it from him, noticing the Imperial cog on the outside.

“I snagged this from an Imp commander when I was taken. Figure it might help you help somebody find what they can do.”

She pulls him into her arms. “Take care of yourself.” He feels the powerful Smirk against his cheek. “Try not to get strung up, bud,” she says.

“May the Force be with you,” he hears in his ear.

As he turns away, he hears her comm chime. He manages to catch a glimpse of a wistful, soft smile on her otherwise calm features. He grins as he hears her say in a light voice, “Hey, Bait.”

_Must be nice._

With his back turned, he doesn’t see her face fall.

**Five years and two months since the fall of the Republic**

For the first time in her near-nineteen years, Meglann Florlin steps into the sunlight of a different world than her own. She breathes in the air. The rational part of her brain knows that the atmosphere of this world is within a minuscule margin of the place she had spent those eighteen and some years.

The romantic part of the mind, however tells her that this world is exotic; its very essence spicy and different. She had chosen it because of job opportunities for someone of her skills. A Mid-Rim transit point for worlds of the Outer Rim. But, this world was merely a stopover—a means to an end. As soon as she could, she would be on her way to another world. A world that had served as the capital planet of the Separatists. The adversary of the Republic in the conflagration that had formed at least five of her loved ones in its cauldron.

But for her, personally, the world means something more. She recalls a distant memory, from when she was younger; of coming across a holo in her late mother’s things. A holo of two Republic Judicial officers, standing stiffly next to her mother, in her own Republic uniform. She had never known who the unknown officers were, or why they were standing next to her mother in what appeared to be a likeness taken from a larger, group shot. The datestamp had told her that it was from a time before her birth, long before her own mother had died in the last war. Scrawled across the back was one word.

_Raxus_

Meglann grins to herself as she is jostled. She feels tiny fingers move into her pocket. She hears a slight squeal as she brings the small, sharpened nail file into the fleshy part of the thumb dipping into her pocket.

As the pickpocket vanishes into the crowd, Meglann thanks the powers-that-be, whoever they are, that she had put her in the path of cops, fixers, spies, slicers, thieves and whatever-the- hell Ahsoka and Covenant were—those loved ones formed by the war that had been started by the people of that distant world. She had learned so much about survival and love from them. She had learned things that probably would never help a diner-owner and budding accountant in their chosen paths, but everything that she had learned from them would help her find a new path. A path in which she could use their example to do what was right. She wipes her tears, realizing she is standing in the thoroughfare. She shoulders her small pack and moves through the teeming crowds in the run-down streets. She takes a deep breath as she sees the ruins of several buildings. She is not sure, but she thinks that the scars might have been made by blasters—scars that appear to be only a few years old.

From sometime around the end of the Clone Wars, based on her study of this world. A schism between factions of a criminal syndicate. Meglann realizes that Ord Mantell might have been placed on her path for a reason other than a transit point. She realizes that those ruins demonstrate the misery and darkness that Bryne and Ahsoka are fighting against. She sighs. It may be a while before she can help. First, she has to find a job. _Do-gooding has to eat._

Hopefully a job that might find her passage to that former Separatist world. It was as good a place as any to start anew, to find herself. She stops at the door and matches the name to the small piece of flimsi.

Xizor Transportation Systems.

As she moves off, she doesn’t see the young man watching her, a smile playing over his dark features. He pulls his comm, sends a quick message.

Mal Adede begins to limp purposefully after the young woman, taking care not to be seen.

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka sits quietly in the small room, listening and watching as Covenant haltingly tells her about Meglann’s losses. She notes that his eyes, so powerful in person when he looks through her, are unable to meet hers in the translucent blue of the holocomm.

“....we have an idea where she might be headed, or at least her initial stop, on Naboo. I’m going to track her from there as best as possible. I’m taking a couple of people along with me from my former job. Might pick up Phygus, as well.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be found, Bait?” she asks quietly. “What then?”

He takes a deep breath. “Then I turn around and head back to Corellia with my tail between my legs.”

She smiles briefly. “Never known you to ever have your tail between your legs. What’re you going to do if you do find her?”

“I’m going to talk to her. Mostly listen. To see if there is anything I can do to help her find her way. I might try to see if I can get her to return.” She is struck by the fact that his eyes glisten. “I’ll try to respect her decision if she doesn’t.”

She feels her heart clinch at his words. She remembers a night in the undercity, over a half-decade ago, when a large clone had done just that for her, at the behest of the man on the other end of the comm. She closes her eyes. “I think that you might can try a little persuasion this time, Bait,” she says, her voice almost a whisper.

“We still talking about Meglann, Runt?” he asks, a smile in his own voice.

She opens her eyes. “Yes. And no. I don’t think you would’ve been able to persuade me to come back to the Jedi. But I love you for what you did do. It was just right. You supported me, but you also made sure that I had what I needed for a fighting chance. She touches the butt of one of the holstered pistol under her left arm.

“Not sure I wanted to persuade you to come back to the Temple, Ahsoka,” he says.

She looks down. “I can’t come, sweetie,” she says. “I’ve just gotten information about that lost fleet that Krell put us on to. I think we’ve got to move fast, if I am going to see it through.” Ahsoka looks directly at him. “I feel like I need to finish it. For what you’ve sacrificed since that whole thing was dumped in your lap.”

“I’m not the only one, Runt,” he says. “I jumped right in with you. Nobody forced me or coerced me.” He grins sheepishly. “Although there were added incentives to fighting with you.”

She is sure that both of them feel their centers twitch at that. “I know. Just like I feel like you bear no responsibility for Meglann’s pain,” she says.

He looks away, reverting back to that shy lover on their first night together. The emotion is maybe not one of shyness, this time. “I failed you, Ahsoka, as well as her. She’s our one link to normalcy. She’s my responsibility and I failed her dream,” he says.

The raw pain in his voice cuts through her. She doesn’t let him get away with it. “You’re so full of shit, Bryne,” she says, letting hardness flow into her clear voice. Hardness, but no censure. “You had the responsibility of protecting her world, not just her. You did that. We lost Gort; we may have lost her dream for awhile, but Alderaan is still fairly free of Imperial influence, as well as being free of its largest criminal threat. That has to mean something. It does to me.”

They are both quiet, lost in their thoughts. “Please let me do this, Ahsoka. Let me try to make sure that she’s doing this for the right reasons,” he finally says.

After a moment, she nods. “I’ll let you, Bryne,” she says, her voice thick. She feels a crooked smile flow to her face, she sees his eyes widen as he recognizes it. “But only if you’re sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. Not for me, but for you and Meglann.”

“I don’t know if I can admit that. I might be doing it for Fulcrum, as well,” he says. “If I have to be sure about the right reasons, then so do you,” he finishes.

After a moment, they both nod, Bryne holds up his hand in the holo.

She moves hers against the image.

“I wish we were together, babe,” he says.

“I know. Not just because I think declarations like these should be made naked,” she says. She knows that a Smirk is prominent on her face—on her lips and eyes, because of his own expression.

A raised eyebrow coupled with the warm grin.

As she signs off. She thinks about the possibility that they both may have grown.

A little bit.

~=~=~=~=~=

Nola walks over to Bail. She had seen Bryne slip out with his comm. His eyes had been troubled when he returned.

Bail waits for her to speak after she bows. “Fulcrum’s reported in. She thinks that she has a solid lead on those old Separatist heavies that Krell was trying to get to when Bryne came into the picture.”

“Did you tell her about Covenant? About Meglann?”

“No. He already had. She was probably ready to come charging in, but he told her he would do this. For Fulcrum.”

Bail looks at her. After a moment, he smiles. “For her. That may be his strongest motivation,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” she says. “It’s as good of one as any, Senator.”

She takes a deep breath. “I’m going over to the Council of Graces, today.” She looks down. “I’m going to be questioned about the selection of Covenant as Peacekeeper-General, among other things. I’ll deflect the questions from you and her Majesty, as best that I can.”

She remembers words she had heard from Breha. Words she had repeated in her oath to another Queen. Words in an ancient, now-dead language.

_I exist to shield. I exist to conceal._

Not just from blades and lasers, but from questions and blame, in this job. Even though she knows that both Organas, Queen and Viceroy-Consort would feel the burden of those metaphorical blows.

That empathy from them made her more willing to shoulder those blows.

She notices Bail smiling at her. “Panteer, again?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says quietly. A memory flows to the front of her mind. A memory of His Grace, the Councilor Dorinth Panteer’s angry face as she rejected him. An offer to be his Lady-Consort.

She grins cheekily. _I’m now the same rank as him. On my own_. She starts as she hears Bail clear his throat.

Bail watches her, waiting. She forges ahead. “After that, I’m requesting that I be allowed to go with Bryne. To help him find Meglann. I might be of some use.” She doesn’t say that Ahsoka had asked her to go with him.

_For Fulcrum._

He smiles. “I know that you would, No-no,” he says. Her eyes widen. He had never used her childhood nickname before, that she could recall.

He takes her hands in his. “I think that it might be best, after your testimony, to be offworld for a while. The Queen and I are working on something. Something that may result in you having a different role in what we’re doing, but still supporting Fulcrum and Tempest. Meanwhile, you might want to study your Corellian mythology. Specifically, one word. _Seoladan.”_

She gazes at him, trying to glean what her path will be now from the beautiful, archaic word. A path that she can continue to help rid the galaxy of the intense darkness.

“It may take some faith on your part, Nola.” He grins. “I may ask you to jump off of a cliff.”

Nola nods. “I am ready, Viceroy,” she says without hesitation.

Her eyes tear as he pulls her into a tight embrace. She remembers the last sentence of that oath as a Handmaiden of Naboo.

_I exist to bear witness._

~=~=~=~=~=

Ahsoka Tano rests on her knees in the old castle, on the shores of a grand lake. A lake that is a major landmark on a beautiful, lush world. A world where so many of her memories flow through her mind, like the river that feeds this blue-green sanctuary. A sanctuary in which she had spent many hours clearing her mind as she either swam in its waters or healed on its shore.

Most recently in the arms of someone she thought that she had lost in the cataclysm that had claimed their kind. Both of them engaged in healing of another kind.

She allows the warm flush of those memories to recede.

She recalls the first time that she had come here. The memory of practicing her forms with two lightsabers under the watchful eye of another mentor. Lightsabers that she had found and rescued. The legacy of members of her former family, that she had thought that she had never met.

Mistakenly thought, as it turns out. She smiles as she thinks of the twisted path she had taken to find these two blades.

Blades that now rest before her, along with her own, as if waiting. Waiting for her to take them up.

Something she would never do again, at least not the two blades of others.

Her mind travels back to the sensations after she had awoken on that day. Her memories wiped, only sensations remaining. She recalls the meditation in a small house on Shili. A meditation that had centered her reeling mind. A mind reeling from her fear, from the thought of what she might have cost her loved ones on Alderaan and elsewhere. A mind that had not been centered by the _turu_ -grass moonshine, or the feel of the sleeping, anonymous hunter’s skin against hers. Or the sounds of her cries as he entered her, as she tried to erase the shame of her mistake. Of allowing herself to lose that week.

The light in her mind as she realizes in her meditation that there had been darkness, but also the sensation of love in that lost week. Of warmth—of the smell of oatmeal and the feel of chubby arms pulling their owner up and around her neck, a makeshift toy held against her.

The sensations that had drawn her to find this first object that held that light. The emerald-hued example. The first of five lightsabers that she had rescued from various collectors and Imperial lackeys. Ones that had apparently escaped the Emperor’s wrath.

These were the only two left. It was fitting. These were the first. Her recovered memory had allowed her to realize why she had been drawn off of her path as Fulcrum to find this blade. A blade that represented love. Of hope. Her smile grows warm.

_Of faith._

Her smile fades as she remembers why she only had two of these rescued sabers left. The other three destroyed, either to save others, or dismantled to save herself.

Two overpowered blades that had helped her save a world. By blocking powerful bolts from an Imperial ship. Destroying them, as well as nearly destroying her own spark in the Living Force. She touches the faint plasma scarring on her bare forearms.

The smile returns to her lips as she thinks of the third blade she had lost. Her jaw tingles ruefully, from where an unknown figure in _beskar’gam_ had leapt into her life, punching her in the jaw, just after using that blade to block incoming blaster bolts to protect her. Using lightsaber forms in a graceful, familiar style that she thought she would never see again.

She had not lost the blade. She had dismantled it, scattering the parts, as she thought that she had been compromised once again. Taking up, for a brief time, the second blade. A much newer, orange blade. A blade constructed after the rise of the Sith, by a mad, brilliant healer. A healer who had most likely sacrificed himself for the owner of the other blade and her, as well as that bright hint of oatmeal, love, and light.

She had no idea how the blade had survived. Most probably some anonymous trooper who had decided he wanted to help finance his retirement by keeping it. By selling it to the Black Sun sub-vigo she had taken it from. Along with the two hands that had held a blaster on her.

She turns as a bright presence in the Force enters the room. The owner of this castle, who had taken her in after her quest. A tiny, ancient being who had helped her find her path back to Bail Organa after three months, watches her.

It is the two figures who stand next to Maz that draw her attention. A large example of those brothers who had taught her, who had nurtured her and protected her, along with her Master; who had ultimately and painfully, nearly destroyed her. A large example with slightly different features, who had protected and had loved as a brother, the man who was now the last remnant of her former life.

Drop, now named Tarre Tredecima, adopted into a small but ancient family, smiles at her as his precious treasure, a young girl who bears resemblance to both of her parents—the product of a sinister, but ultimately, loving experiment, runs to the ex-Jedi and hugs her tightly to her.

His eyes widen as they fall on the two lightsabers. The first, in particular. A blade as familiar to him as its owner.

She sees the gamut of emotions playing over his face in an instant. Love, hope, fear, pain. All in the course of a microsecond.

She paints what she hopes is an encouraging smile on her face as she rises and draws him to her. “Got something to tell you, big guy,” she says, her voice as light as she can make it.

She feels the hope rise in his body, through the warm embrace.

~=~=~=~=~=

Covenant eyes the old ship as he stands at the ramp. _So many memories_. He shakes his head. Time to make some more, he thinks as he walks up the ramp. He hears the whine of the engines starting up as he enters the cockpit. He moves into the co-pilot’s seat.

His heart clinches at the different visage staring back at him. _A much different visage_ , he thinks.

Murta Locke looks at him curiously. He nods. _It’s okay. Dani is doing something equally important. She will be with you when you need her._

“Raise ship, Murta,” he says simply. The Pamarthen nods.

He turns to the person seated at the comm station.

Nola looks back at him, her eyes unreadable. She smiles at him. “Ready, Last Word?” he asks.

“Yep,” is all she says in response.

A large presence enters. The hatch closes behind him. Boge M’Faru sits on the edge of the nav table. “Everything’s buttoned up, Bryne.” His first name comes strangely from from the ex-Peacekeeper’s lips.

He nods. “Let’s go find our girl.” _Or at least her dreams_.

The ship rises from the beautiful, peaceful world.

An unbidden thought from his world’s mythology comes to his mind. Something that had been in his dreams, as he had thought of the next stage of his life. The First, Eighth, and Ninth of the fabled Corellian Nine Hells, and their Conduit. The Second would remain on Corellia, protecting the Hope of that world. Tempest, Ishta, Maxim, Damab, and Seoladan.

 _We’re coming for you and anyone who threatens you, Meglann_ , he thinks. _Whatever you need to find your dream, again._


End file.
